This month I have mostly been…
…teaching.
I get a new private lesson on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons: an 18 year-old lad called Karn. Never have I met someone who can talk as much as him. What’s amazing is that he chatters away in a language that’s not his own. With a new student I use this conversation prompts game that helps me get to know the student and get to know what level of English they’re at. It normally lasts about an hour. With Karn it lasts FOUR HOURS. This is over a period of two lessons I hasten to add, not four hours straight. But still. FOUR HOURS. Luckily he’s immensely likeable, funny and very, very open (as you can imagine, being such a talker).
He tells me an amazing story the first time we meet. He wants some advice about a girl he’s met and I tell him I’ll do my best. He’s already told me he’s recently split up from another girlfriend who broke his heart so I’m already in Dear Deidre mode. He tells me he kept seeing this girl on the bus that he really liked and eventually he plucked up the courage to go and talk to her. They got on well and spoke each time they saw each other and eventually they swapped numbers. Karn was happy. They chatted on the phone a bit and he felt like he was getting over his ex. He went out with this new girl, who he tells me works in The Pizza Company near ECC, and has a great time. Then she tells him she has something to tell him. He pauses at this point and it’s the first time I see him stuck for words. I’m on tenterhooks. What on earth did she say?? Then he finally spits it out. She told him she’s not actually a girl.
Only in Thailand.
He says he’s gutted. “I not gay!” he proclaims. “I like her but I not gay!” He now doesn’t know what to do and wants some advice. I think he’s expecting me to say just drop her and looks a bit horrified when I tell him to meet up with her or call her, explain you just want to be friends, or something; let her down gently. He’s very confused cos he still thinks she’s hot – he ays you really can’t tell. We have a long conversation about it and he resolves to do as I say.
At the end of the lesson I’m already looking forward to the next one (first time ever??) to find out what happened. And what happened is very sweet. He did exactly what I said – met up with her, said he can only be friends, had a nice evening at the cinema with her, and then bid farewell. They probably won’t speak again, but hey, no harm done. God I’m good, he he.
Lessons with Nop, the 27 year old I teach at his house, get better and better, though I always dread them for some reason. I think it’s because I can’t escape. Like, at ECC I can wander out the classroom on the pretext of getting a resource for use in the lesson. I can move around a bit. But there I’m stuck. Plus there’s still residue of the bad start we got off to as well, I think. But the lessons work well now, I know what he wants and how best to teach him.
My private students get younger and older as well. I get given a seven year old girl called Jaa to teach. She’s very cute and a little mischievous, but won’t speak a word unless heavily prompted. Again I get the impression she’s here to be looked after, that I’m a glorified babysitter once more, but it’s not too bad.
And I get given a 39-year-old woman for conversation practice. She’s really interesting, not in that she’s a rich housewife married to a gynaecologist, but in that she talks about Bangkok before it became the urban sprawl it is now, when it was much more bucolic and had a greater sense of community to it. Living in it now, it’s hard to imagine.
Mine and Muang continue to be an entertaining challenge. All I do now is play games (involving English) with them, and in the process try and get them to use as much English as possible. One evening their father sits in the room with us and it’s brilliant – he won’t allow them to speak Thai and they pretty much speak English for the whole hour and a half. Of course the following week all is back to normal with their constant Thai chatter and bickering with the occasional allowance of my presence. I just have fun with them though, and they’re not hating it and neither am I, so that’s the main thing.
…having unwelcome dreams.
The most pleasant thing about heading around the world and leaving behind your life back home (and the reason most people do it) is that you are so completely distracted by your new life and surroundings you can easily forget any problems or issues or memories from the past you had back home.
But while you think about those things less, those old feelings still linger in the depths of your brain and occasionally resurface to bite you on the ass. Early one Wednesday morning I have a dream about a man from my past, someone who hasn’t been a part of my life for years, but it’s so vivid and heart-wrenching that it lingers horribly throughout the day. I can do nothing. I just mull. It ridiculous, but what goes up must come down, it seems, and this must be a side effect of the immense joy and freedom you experience in getting away from it all.
It only lasts a day. I suffer one day of dealing with old emotions I thought were long buried before life reminds where I am and what I’m doing again.
…hanging out with the girls from Bang Kae.
So there were Jess and I innocently playing pool in Gulliver’s 2 last month when three crazy ass girls by the names of Anna, Felicity and Vicky walked into our lives. Our burgeoning friendship with these infinitely lovely Westerners who, like us, are here in Bangkok teaching, introduces us to yet more friendships as the month unfolds.
I spend a lot of time with them this month, as you’ll see as you read further on in this blog, but there’s a particularly memorable drunkfest that occurs not long after Sean has departed for New Zealand.
It’s Thursday evening and I’ve just finished my evening adult class. We were revising for a test and they all looked well nervous, bless them. But they’ll be fine.
Anyway, I head over the river to meet Jess on Khao San Road for a planned drinking session (apart from Jess of course, who doesn’t drink). We meet in the big Irish bar where I find Jess has ‘pulled’ once again. This time it’s a Norwegian woman called Hanne who was looking lonely so Jess started chatting to her. Hanne, I discover, is on a two month trip taking in Kenya and Thailand. A bizarre pairing, I think, but she was apparently invited on the trip by a friend who organised it and then pulled out. So here she is, having done Kenya, on her own in Thailand. She’s enjoying herself but is obviously pleased to have some company.
I eat some food while they chat. I can barely hear what Hanne’s saying, the music’s so bloody loud, but we have a bit of a chat about Norwegian pop music. I like Robyn (who she tells me is Swedish, oops) and Annie. She’s not impressed. She’s more of a Royksopp and Kings of Convenience girl.
We invite her along with us and go and meet the girls at Gas Station – an outside drinking hole that is a petrol station by day (see what they did there?) and a boozer at night. My mate Justin told me about it before I came and so I text him when I get there, telling him I finally made it, but bemoaning the fact they are playing a bloody Mariah Carey concert video on the big screen. Who needs that when they’re drinking? Justin texts back to tell me he’s sat at his desk waiting for the clock to reach five o’clock (maybe suffering Mariah Carey ain’t so bad) and to have a Sangsom whisky and coke for him. I oblige.
There are some new faces sat around the table: a Canadian called Rachelle who’s nice and chatty, and a couple of girls from my neck of the woods in London – Khilna, who’s from Twickenham, and Lisa, who studied in Kingston. The three of us bond over south-west London until Vicky brings out a water pistol filled with Sangsom and things start to get a little raucous. (Did I just use the word raucous on my blog? I think I did. Oh dear.)
I drink beer. Mojitos. I get slowly pissed. We head to a club on Khao San Road called Lava. It does what it says on the tin; before we arrive Vicky describes the interior as ‘how you might imagine an interior designer doing up a place to look like a volcano’. She’s not wrong, and it’s bloody awful. Not just the interior, but the relentless R&B and hip hop (do they think Westerners listen to nothing else??) and the VERY expensive drinks. Even poor Jess has to pay top dollar for some fruit juice.
I’m feeling self-conscious cos I’m in my shorts (dancing in shorts just ain’t pretty, I’m afraid) which make me look like I’m on safari or something. Though truth be told there’s plenty of wildlife in here, of the Westerners on holiday kind.
I have a boogie with Hanne, but she makes me even more self-conscious because she’s bloody amazing at dancing. Then she tells me she used to work as a professional choreographer. That’ll do it.
Lisa and Khilna get chatted up by some English boys. One of the lads is pretty as hell and Fliss and I can’t take our eyes off him. He’s wrapped up in Lisa though so we get away with it. But then a drunken Fliss goes over and chats to him and his mate and asks if they’re gay cos I fancy him. I have no idea what’s happening at this point, I can just see Fliss talking to them and them looking over at me and I get worried. Turns out they’re cool and jokingly pretend to be boyfriends, but God knows what she was saying to them cos they were giving me funny looks for a while.
We go and dance a bit; I dance with Khilna. She can’t dance for toffee, bless her. Hanne gets loads of attention, inevitably. She’s thrusting away like Britney Spears in a porn video. I go back to the bar (I just can’t dance in shorts) and chat to Jess. She’s having loads of fun, laughing at everyone’s pissedness. This is how she usually entertains herself on nights out like this – remembering what everyone else forgets.
Eventually she decides to go home. I know I should go with her, I’ve got class at nine, but I don’t. Instead I stay and chat with Fliss about boys. And get more drunk.
We go to another bar when the club shuts, leaving Hanne there with some bloke she’s pulled. We go upstairs in some bar on Khao San and the girls get chatting to some lads playing pool – one of them lived in the same small town as Lisa. None of us have heard of it but they both get excited! Fliss is talking football with some other lads. One of them asks me what football team I support. I tell him any one with good-looking players in it. He says, “Are you gay?” and I turn and look at Fliss, asking, “What have you been saying now?” She denies all, and the guy says it was my comment, which of course it was. I don’t know why I was being a knob. Might have been something to do with the booze. Possibly.
I wander off, knowing I’ve been a twat, and set up the pool table. I play doubles with Fliss against these two lads. We’re awful. Anna is having a heart-to-heart in the corner with Vicky and when we decide to leave I go off to find them. Some Dutch guy is with them and, it’s all a bit vague, but for some reason I got really arsey with him. Anna is as drunk as hell and needs looking after so I take her downstairs as the men who own the place try to usher us out as quickly as possible. They even turned the lights off about 10 minutes ago but we’re still here!
On Khao San I keep an eye on Anna as she keeps wandering off and no one else is paying the least bit of attention. She’s been crying, and is upset about something. On the road I see Hanne with some bloke. She’s also crying. I go and see what’s up. She says she’s okay, it’s just she’s been chatting to this guy she met who’s a psychologist and he said some things to her that got her a little upset. What bad luck, to pull a bloody psychologist in a club! I ask her again if she’s all right and she insists she’ll be fine.
We all get in a cab. Anna is still upset. How she’s going to get up for work tomorrow is beyond me. But then I have that problem to deal with as well. Oh. Dear.
…watching some films.
Jess and I were bored one evening and decided to go and see Primeval. It looks like a trashy monster flick about a big croc, and so we were expecting it to be a bit shit. But surprisingly it was a whole lot more than just a monster flick. Not only do the American journalists sent to capture said big croc on film have that very croc to fend off, they also spend half the film navigating Burundi’s violent civil war and the gangs with guns that that throws in their path. It’s a real thrill ride and doesn’t live up to your expectations too much (though the black best friend does get eaten).
Jess didn’t come with me to see Hannibal Rising. She’s not a fan of psychological horror. Blood and gore she can handle, but anything that might mess with your head a bit and she’s not in. I love the character though, so couldn’t wait to see another film with him in, and it was good. The guy playing Hannibal was weirdly sexy and, despite yourself, you felt sympathetic for old (well, young actually) Hannibal. It’s quite action-packed from the outset as well, which is unexpected for an origin movie. They did good with it.
…hanging out with the other teachers.
One evening, after heading over to Pizza Company to see if we can see Karn’s ladyboy (we have no luck, it could have been any of the waitresses or none of them), Jess and I sit with fellow teachers Vanda, Ian and Ricky in the drinking area next to the market by the cinema. It’s just a place that serves drinks and food, surrounded by a few tables, where you can watch the traffic go by on the freeway and breathe in the lovely smell of petrol fumes. We like it.
It’s a fun evening but nothing much happens to recount here. We spend pretty much the entire evening firing movie quotes at each other and in the process frustrating each other immensely. It’s great fun, just the kind of evening you’d have with your mates in the pub back home.
We do similar a couple of times this month and again I feel lucky to have such a nice and sociable bunch of people to work with. Touch wood, that’s always been the case so far.
…buying my first CD in A Very Long Time.
Before I left I was getting quite excited about a new band called Enter Shikari. They’re a hardcore band that use trance riffs in their songs, bringing together two wildly different genres in a way no one would have ever thought possible.
I promised myself I’d have a break from music a bit this year, take the opportunity to enjoy all my old music instead of obsessing about new stuff all the time. Well I caved this month. I knew Enter Shikari’s album was coming out and kept looking for it on Khao San Road. With iTunes on the computers at work I knew I’d be able to get it onto my iPod as well, no problem. As soon as I saw the CD I bought it, 100 baht. Amazing. And it is amazing as well. To say it’s Lostprophets remixed by Faithless would be doing them a disservice but it gives you and idea of what they’re about. I played the album non-stop for two weeks. I always do this with music I love, play it death and almost kill it for myself due to overexposure. But I can’t help it, if I love something I want to hear it again and again.
…doing some Muay Thai.
But not much. I only go three times this month. This is a problem. To get the level of endurance you need to do it properly you need about six or seven weeks intensive training. But I find myself with very little time to dedicate to it. This month, between working, going to Chiang Mai, Paul visiting and me getting ill (see below), Muay Thai takes a back seat. But I keep promising myself to spend more time doing it, so we’ll see.
…getting ill.
Three days of water-fighting, alongside four nights of solid drinking in Chiang Mai, take its toll and upon my return I come down with a bout of what my female friends would no doubt describe as ‘man flu’. But still it’s not pleasant and mars Paul’s visit somewhat (I find myself unable to get drunk with him). Once he’s gone, however, I rest up and it moves on its merry way.
…having some roast dinners.
Anna tells us about a pub they know in Sukhumvit called The Londoner, which is a mock English pub that plays football, sells bitter and, most importantly, does roast dinners. Not having had such a delight since I left the UK I am understandably keen to get my arse down there and sample said culinary treat. Of course, we’re in Thailand, it might be awful. But still, it’s worth the risk. And it is. Man, I’m so happy and content with the roast pork in front of me (the only reminder I’m in Thailand? We’re not sure what fruit the ‘apple’ sauce is actually made from), I don’t notice the minor row that nearly erupts between Fliss and a male friend of Vicky’s. Something about Jews, I don’t know. Who cares about anti-Semitism when there’s roast potatoes to be eaten?
It’s so good we go back a couple weeks later when Fliss’s mum is here. I’m sat with the pair of them and it’s quite funny watching Fliss in ‘behaving around the parents’ mode. It’s almost like being with a different person. I never bother personally. Both my sister and I behave around our folks much as we would around our mates (with a few concessions, of course, they are our folks after all).
This second stint at The Londoner is also memorable for the Canadian girl, also a teacher and a friend of Rachelle’s, who thinks that Jess and I are married. Not dating, but MARRIED. I tell her to keep her mouth shut and not to ruin the surprise, which defuses the weirdness a bit.
…hanging out with Beer.
There is, it seems, no such thing as a one night stand in Thailand. I had to fend off the last Thai bloke I slept with after he was sending me text messages saying he missed me and calling me baby less than ONE HOUR after he’d left my room. Now I have Beer on my hands. But this time the keenness to keep in touch is less frightening and so I go with it (I quite like him), in the process acquiring what you might call my Thai boyfriend.
I use the word ‘boyfriend’ in the loosest possible sense, as that suggests some kind of commitment. Given that I’m off in a couple months and that I have absolutely no intention at all of not sleeping with anyone else while I’m here, I certainly wouldn’t consider him my boyfriend. But we end up spending a few evenings together after our first meeting during Sean’s visit.
First time we meet on Khao San Road and have something to eat. He tells me his real name is Supachai Chachum, which is much better than his faintly ridiculous nickname (I’ll get into the whole Thai nicknames thing in another entry). It’s nice to talk to him in a normal state, not be either rip-roaringly drunk and trying to get into his pants, or so hungover I can barely keep hold of who I am let alone him. He tells me he wants to go to England. This might ring alarm bells in another situation but he’s not interested in me for that; he’s aware I won’t be back there for some time. He’s going over to stay with some friends there somewhere in Essex and work in a Thai restaurant.
His English is really good. He says he’s never been taught but learnt from watching movies and TV. It’s hard to believe him, he speaks it so well, but he insists it’s true.
When we finish eating he takes me to a gay bar near Khao San. I wasn’t aware there was one but it’s apparently a bit of a local secret, not for farang like me. It’s for what Beer amusingly calls the ‘sticky rice’ gays – the Thai gay guys that only like other Thais.
We get in no problem though and head to the bar to order some beers. It’s a bit of a dive, and looks more like the stockroom of a shop than a bar, the black walls probably hiding a fair amount of sins. The clientele are everything you’d expect ‘sticky rice’ gays to be – Thai from wall to wall. I’m the only farang in the joint, but to be honest I’m quite happy about that. It’s nice to experience something a bit more ‘local’ than bloody Khao San Road.
I’ve got an early start the next morning so we don’t stay long, just long enough for a beer and to enjoy the boy dancers that appear on the rickety stage at one point. They are followed by a troupe of screechy drag queens (even more screechy than British ones thanks to their Thai accents) who are filthy (apparently, according to Beer, who blushes he’s so shy) for 15 minutes or so before tottering back up the stairs.
I see Beer again a couple weeks later, after my sojourn to Chiang Mai. This time we meet down in Silom, where he takes me to Telephone Bar. Now there are probably bars like this across the globe but I’ve never been in one before so it was quite a novelty. By each seat, whether you’re at a table or sat at the bar, there is a telephone. If you spot someone you like across the bar you can pick it up and call them, chat them up across the bar without even having to leave your friends. Amazing.
Beer’s phone rings while we’re sat at the bar. He chats in Thai for a while and of course I’m dying to know what was said when he hangs up. But he won’t tell me. He changes the subject as soon as he can and is resistant to further enquiry. Bastard! I wanna know!
After we’ve finished eating Beer takes me up to Chatuchak, north of the city. There’s a row of bars there - some gay, some straight – and he’s meeting some friends of his at one of them. Again it’s packed to the rafters with Thai gay boys, but this time there’s less of a mix – most of them are whippet thin and camp as Christmas. The music reflects that with its mix of frenetic Thai pop and diva-esque R&B from the likes of Gwen Stefani and Fergie. I hate it but grin and bear it.
Beer’s friends are more of the whippet thin crowd. I really can’t believe how skinny these guys are; they make me look fat. There are three of them, one a lot bigger built than the others, even towering over me.
They kindly offer me a drink and I take a whisky and coke from them. They’re drinking from a bottle of Spey Royal, which I’ve not tried before. It’s the first and last time I do. It doesn’t sit well in my stomach and as soon as I’ve got a polite amount down I switch back to beer. Thai whisky is dodgy as, man.
We stand around and I watch the queenie gay boys do their little dance routines and pose and rubberneck at all the other gay boys who are doing dance routines and posing and rubbernecking. It’s amusing but really not my scene.
Beer dances a bit though and I notice he’s pretty good. He tells me he used to be part of a dance troupe at a bar down in party capital (my words, not his) Pattaya. Pattaya is like Thailand’s version of Newquay, just with more go-go bars.
I look at Beer funny and he’s quick to assure me it was nothing dodgy; he wasn’t stripping or selling himself or anything. I believe him; he’s too damn shy for that.
We eventually bail, me being a bit of an old man, and head back to his. But I’m starting to wonder if I can keep this up with him. Do I like him that much?
…celebrating Thai New Year in Chiang Mai.
See separate entry.
…being a terrible host to my friend Paul.
See separate entry.
…hanging out with Jess.
We eat together, walk home together, work together, all that. But as much as it’s situation that has thrown us together like this, I’m sure neither of us would encourage it if we didn’t like each other’s company.
Jess is very cool and chilled, never loses her temper about ANYTHING. If I’m ever a bit of an idiot, she just takes the piss. We give each other space as well - there’s only so much time you spend with any person – but it’s all unsaid, instinctual. We’ll sit there in perfectly comfortable silences as well, no problem, before the conversation starts up again in some new, totally random direction. It’s an entirely different relationship to that with Mengly, from whom, weirdly (or maybe not), I’ve not heard from since she left. The only thing I can put that down to is that her time in Thailand was that bad she just wants to forget about it and move on. Which is fine, you know, that’s her choice.
But I digress. Jess is the kind of friend you can wander round with randomly, with no direction, and just chat shit. As we do one evening later in the month, when we’re bored and wander round Central shopping mall, looking at the expensive cars on display and deciding what kind of person would buy each one and whether we could afford one on Thai prices (the answer is no). It’s a random forgettable evening but all the more memorable for that.
…saying goodbye to James.
See separate entry.
…amazed by the rain.
Seriously. It pours buckets and buckets. You literally cannot move when it’s raining because if you walk into it you will be soaked to the skin in about two seconds (maybe three if you’re lucky). And then, just moments later, it’s sunny and hot again, the only evidence there was rain being the puddles that form on the badly built pavements. (Is built the correct verb? Do you ‘build’ a pavement? Answers on a postcard please.) The pouring rain is usually preceded by (literally) cracking thunderstorms. The brightest lightning followed by the biggest, loudest thunder you ever heard. I enjoy these storms from the safety of my room’s balcony; they’re not so much fun when I’m out and about.
But monsoon season has come early this year. It’s normally sweltering hot right now. I mean, it is hot anyway, but it’s normally hotter and without the storms. I’m preferring the rain to be honest.
...reading some books.
I borrow a trashy thriller novel off Jess, she loves them. It’s called Gone For Good and is by a guy called Harlan Coben. It’s a bit like watching one of those TV films they show in the afternoon. You know you’re not going to like it, that it’s going to be terrible, but you slowly get drawn into it and by the time you’re half way through you’re sticking with it just because to not know what happens would leave you distraught. Well, not distraught but definitely annoyed.
I get hold of the second His Dark Materials novel, The Subtle Knife, in Chiang Mai. It’s amazing, even more exciting than the first one. Though I’m not sure about the relegation of the main character, a girl, to second place by a boy. I think that was a little sexist. Maybe it’ll all sort itself out in the third one.
I read a trashy vampire novel set in Bangkok called The Vampire Of Siam. After reading Bangkok 8, which details the city so vividly, I found Jim Newport’s book very slight and lacking. He just seems to name streets here and there rather than give you any idea of what Bangkok’s actually like. And the story itself is a bit predictable and, I think, not very believable. Yeah, I know, it’s a vampire novel. But what the vampire does at the end doesn’t ring true to the character to me. Not a great book!
Which brings me to Bangkok Tattoo, the sequel to Bangkok 8. Once again Bangkok itself is the main character and John Burdett takes you even further into both the shady and shadier parts of the city. And it’s nice to get back to characters I know and like in another complicated and exciting story. They’re wicked books.
I also plough on with Anne Frank, which becomes more and more like a Judy Bloom novel – ie snogging and talk of periods. I’m sure it’ll hit me with the tragedy at the end and I’ll feel awful for slagging it off, but it really is like that!
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