May: 2009
As I sit here, late at night, waiting *dreading* for my 30th year to commence, in a new country with no friends, only a few acquaintances, whom I have very little in common with, (and where I can categorically say Bangkok is a boys ‘sexpat drinking dinneyland’, and not many of these boys grow up), I think I’m having a slightly expat ‘homemaking’ wifeypoo existential crises.
Jobless, directionless, and lacking clear focus of what I intend to do when I grow up, I realise that, if the next 30 years pass a fast as the last 30 years have, I really ought to get my shit together.
At night, while the city calms to a deafening silence, alone in my insomnia, wandering the intwerweb, and reading what books I have left, I start to feel this indescribable sense of anxiety for the lack of accomplishments I have achieved in such a large amount of time. The lack of skills (people skills especially), lack of experience, lack of money and security, with the excuse of what small, pure ‘ornamental value’ I had (which wasn’t much), slipping through my aging fingers (it all starts to go south at 25, gravity’s a bitch)… Just quietly, I start to freak out. It sounds like screaming in my head.
This sense of anxiety is pervasive through my days of doing very little but sweating by sitting still, in this new country, which I know little about, a culture which is, by all means, contrary to everything I have come to know. Foreign… funny that.
I know that 30, an age defined by mass media, for a woman, is by all means the death knell of youth. If I were in a movie, I would be cast in a role, playing a mother of small children, most likely single or divorced. In a magazine, I would be photo shopped, airbrushed, freshened up, and thinned out. Yet, admittedly, although the body ages, I feel my world-view hasn’t particularly changed since I was a teenager. The only thing, which has occurred to me, is – the older I get, the less I know.
The other day, for the first time, I got this sense, finally, that I could actually enjoy living in a culture where logic is defied, reason as I understand, so far, is: there isn’t any – most clearly illustrated by their driving capabilities. I do so like their toilets though…what I call the ‘reverse bidet’, a hose with a spurty thing on the end. It’s much better than smearing faecal matter everywhere, (essentially what white people do with their toilet paper ways), the shitters here make you feel so clean.
Later that same week (I think)…
I might sound bitter and twisted, and have nothing to do except complain about the place, but there are some pretty cool things about Bangkok, which I will inventory now…
Soi’s 11 through to 7 after 12 AM, (NANA area): The cut off hour for normal bars is about 1-2 AM, so from after midnight, on Sukhumvit, between Soi 11 and 7, most of the little market stalls close down, and the little side bars open up. It is here you can drink cheap beer, or water in my case, and watch the ‘drag and pull… and walk behind’. There are 3 types of men in Bangkok, ones who are dragged home, ones who pull the chicks home, or ones who make the chicks walk a respectable distance behind them to make themselves appear less like a desperate sexpat.
It’s amusing to watch, and you come across some interesting characters, like the IT guy from Calgary (redneck homophobe city), who comes to town specifically for the Kathoeys. He makes a hand motion *two fists bashing together* and says with a little lisp “where lutht meeth lutht”. Or the Orange Juice guy who has just alighted the plane from some shitsburg in England, first destination NANA, and on his way back to his hotel room, sits down on the street for a beer and says “I don’t know what it is about this town, but I feel so sexy”, in full recognition that he is taking the piss out of himself. I kinda like the people watching down there. It’s a definite tourist attraction.
Another thing is the instant flooding of the streets in a torrential downpour. We haven’t quite hit the wet season yet, but I’m getting a taste for it. When asking why people didn’t like coming out in the rain, it took me a couple of hours to realise why. The streets flood up and over the kerbs, and little Thai people are immersed to their knees in the sewer-agy waters of Bangers. I liked it, the first time it happened reminded me of the first time snow fell in Canada, I loved it, it was exciting, the locals groaned and thought of the body count. I figure as the years (days) pass, you come to like it less and less. Cars die when the idiots beside you create a bow of a wave, which engulfs your engine and kills some compressor thingy. Or something. There is a road count of cars at the end of it, for sure.
Cheap Charlies is definitely a highlight when desperate for some English conversation. It’s a quirky little bar down in the lower soi’s, and as indicated by the name is cheaper than the rest. We go here when I have been deprived of interesting and varied English conversation for so long, that I have to go hunting for it. But like any conversations had in Thailand, most of them happen in a bar, and by the end of the night, if you’re the only one who can speak coherently anymore, or follow a single train of thought… it does get kinda dull too. It’s a nice little bar though, and while the boys drink (because essentially it is a male centric town), I can pop across the way and get my hair done, they know how I like it now.
Oh, there is another really cool factor: getting my hair washed and braided, for like, 8 bucks or less. I can sleep on it, and don’t have to worry about it for maximum 3 days. It does start to look like a rats nest after that. ‘Beer Tamada - nun nun’ is what I supposedly like. I think it means normal braid - tightly. Or what we know as French braids. It keeps you cool in the 100% humidity and 30 degrees + celsius days.
Food by Phone means I don’t have to leave the house. Yes, it’s somewhat expensive comparatively, to say, eating on the streets, (I can only eat a few things on the streets, I have yet to learn how to say, ‘no MSG’). But one does have a pretty good selection of international cuisine, brought straight to your door within a 45 minute period. I don’t mind me some Food by Phone. It equals out to basic delivery prices, about 1000 Baht, so with today’s exchange rate $38 AUD for 2 people.
Leaving the house at any given time and being able to find some form of entertainment, if need be, is another plus. It does get to this point sometimes, whether from lack of feeding ourselves, or just the sheer boredom of having nothing to watch.
Our very reasonably priced live in Burmese maid, who speaks very good Thai, but fuck all English. She does a wonderful job of babysitting the dogs, and cleaning, even if you don’t want her to clean. I’ve tried to tell her to sleep in, but she insists on getting up at a sparrows fart to do stuff. I didn’t realise how messy we are, but my husband assures me we wont be able to do things for ourselves soon, and I think he has a point. I try to teach her English, and she tries to teach me Thai. We are developing some kind of recognisable language where we both understand a few words to get by on. It’s an experience. I do worry about her when she doesn’t come home though, because they like to arrest the Burmese, so we have come to learn.
Starting to learn the language. Well, a very rudimentary sense of it anyways. Think it’s going to take me a while. Tonal languages are hard. The word ‘Bus’ has about 5 words (sounds) for the Thai translation. Confusing, say what. But fun accomplishing maybe one or two new words a day. I never thought Thai would be my second language though. Thought it would be something more romantic, like Spanish. I definitely decided against French though, due to sounding too Germanic for me, which I only realised when I went there… and they are rude.
And the massages. Get massaged for 2 hours costs you about 20 AUD or less. Even if they aren’t all to the same standard, they do fix one problem or other, or are relaxing enough to fall asleep to. It’s a nice way to kill some Time.
There are other good points. So I’m not too bitter and twisted yet. Watching the boys get drunk and laid, can have its high points too, I guess.
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