Bangkok Old Hand

by Collin Piprell

  BANGKOK

  OLD HAND

  A collection of stories by

  Collin Piprell

  Post Books

  Post Books is a division of

  The Post Publishing Co., Ltd.,

  136 Na Ranong Road, off Sunthorn Kosa Rd.,

  Klong Toey, Bangkok 10110, Thailand

  First Edition August 1993

  Copyright © Collin Piprell

  ISBN: 974-202-008-6

  Editor: William Page Cover design: Annie Vaillancourt Layout: Supapom Runtaseevee Illustrations: Collin Piprell

  Set in Bookman

  Printed in Thailand by Allied Printers, Bangkok

  an ebookman scan.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

  BANGKOK OLD HAND

  A collection of stories by Collin Piprell

  All but a few of these stories have been previously published in the Bangkok Post, Thailand Tatler, Fah Thai, or Asia Magazine. Most of them first appeared under the byline "Ham Fiske".

  Why that particular pseudonym? Years before the writer had ever written anything for publication, he thought he would one day like to be a writer. But, once, after he had revealed all in a bar-room conversation, it was pointed out that "Collin Piprell" was kind of hard to remember, which was really the kindest thing you could say about the name; and he'd never become a famous writer unless he could think of a good pseudonym. So everybody sat around and thought about it for a while. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, it came to him. "Ham Fiske"! It was short, easy to spell, and had a certain lusty heft to it. More importantly, though, reviewers wouldn't be able to resist it. They could start every review with "And here we have another typically ham- fisted effort..." According to the "It doesn't matter what they say, as long as they talk about me" school of self- promotion, it would only be a matter of time before he was rich, famous, and buried in groupies.

  He had the name, but it took him several more years before he actually wrote anything to hang it on. And, he reports, having eventually written 40-50 short stories, articles, and essays as Ham Fiske. he still wasn't noticeably bothered by groupies so he said what the hell, and went back to being plain old Colin Prep... Collin Pipe... Um. Who?

  Collin Piprell is a Canadian writer and editor living in Bangkok. Aside from the many magazine articles which he has had published, mostly around Asia and most of them under his own name, he is the author of a novel, a collection of short stories, and various works of non-fiction.

  Other books by Collin Piprell:

  Kicking Dogs (Bangkok: Editions Duang Kamol, 1991)

  Bangkok Knights (Bangkok: Editions Duang Kamol, 1989; 2nd ed. 1991)

  Diving in Thailand (Singapore: Times Editions, 1993), photographs by Ashley J. Boyd.

  Thailand's Coral Reefs (Bangkok: White Lotus, 1993), photographs by Ashley J. Boyd. Thailand: The Kingdom Beneath the Sea (Bangkok: Artasia Press, 1991), photographs by Ashley J. Boyd. National Parks Thailand (Bangkok: IFPC, 1991), with Denis Gray and Mark Graham.

  CONTENTS

  BANGKOK

  OLD HAND

  1 LAND OF SMILES

  2 EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES

  3 LEARNING TO WALK

  4 LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

  5 THE ORIGIN OF THE THAI BUS QUEUE

  6 RUNNING WITH THE BULLS, BANGKOK-STYLE

  7 SOCIAL FREE-CLIMBING

  8 THE JOY OF TRAFFIC JAMS

  9 ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE

  10 FLEEING THE SCENE

  11 BANGKOK OLD HAND TRAFFIC QUIZ

  12 BANGKOK 1997: LAND OF SALES

  13 BANGKOK 1997: CITY SKYLINE

  14 SPACE INVADERS

  15 MY CAREER AS A MODEL

  16 LETTING IT ALL HANG OUT

  17 JUST ANOTHER MYTH

  18 STAGEFRIGHT IN RANGOON

  19 SHMOOS AND ALIEN BLOBS AND THINGS

  20 THE GREAT WATERMELON FUMBLE

  21 THE JOY OF HANGOVERS

  22 AND DON'T SAIL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

  23 USERS AND LOSERS: A COMPUTER STORY

  24 FAMOUS LAST WORDS

  25 QUIZ: ARE YOU A BANGKOK OLD HAND?

  26 ANSWERS

  End of Bangkok Old Hand

  1 LAND OF SMILES

  Thailand is the Land of Smiles. And, despite the stresses of urban living, Bangkokians remain essentially Thai. Exactly what, however, does all this smiling mean?

  The original Year of Tourism (1987) is well past; we're well into the first Decade of Tourism, and it's smiles all around at the TAT (Tourism Authority of Thailand), not to mention the wolfish grins on your average gang of Thai businessmen.

  Yes, everybody's smiling. But precisely what is the famous Thai Smile? What does all this smiling signify? Can the casual visitor just assume that it means all is well, and that the Thais are simply a warm, welcoming crowd of more-than-averagely-civilised people? There are smiles, after all, and there are smiles.

  Scientists have suggested various origins for the human smile. Some behaviourists argue that the smile in each of its many expressions may be related, at basis, back to the relaxation of the muscles in a baby's face after he's glutted himself on his mother's milk. (I've seen that same nice, uncomplicated smile on my pal Stack Jackson, just after he's drained his first glass of Kloster beer on a Friday night.) Other researchers look for even earlier origins, tracing the urge to smile back to snarls and open-mouthed threats among the apes, our evolutionary cousins. (Stack says he's seen this kind of smile on his mother-in-law, though Stack's wife says her mum means well.)

  Even with apes, however, studies show that different smiles can convey different messages. Chimpanzees, for example, have a "fear grin ", or smile of appeasement. Confronted by a superior member of the species, the ape performs a silent, bare-toothed display (it looks like a smile, anyway). This signifies something like, "Hey, I'm an okay guy; don't do anything rash. I wasn't winking at your mate. Dearie me, no. I merely had a mote in my eye." And there's another smile in the chimp's repertoire — this one a soothing expression directed by a superior to an inferior, as if to say, "Don't panic, man. Relax. You go ahead and wink all you want..."

  Step on someone's toe in the press of people on a Bangkok bus, and the chances are you'll be confronted with a beaming smile, even as your victim blinks back tears of pain, and just as though he had thought his day couldn't possibly have been any better unless, of course, some great klutz stepped on his foot.

  In fact, the smile is routinely used to defuse potentially violent situations. It's a culturally imprinted first reaction, and a valuable buffer against ill-considered conflict. It doesn't mean your average Thai enjoys pain.

  A note in passing: you're probably more likely to get hit by lightning than be held up by bandits, in Thailand: in the unfortunate event, however, you could be sure the bandits would be smiling. What you should do under those circumstances is smile just as winningly and give them your money.

  Besides the "submissive" and "soothing" smiles, chimps have a third variety, which is simply the "friendly" one. Scientific observation has shown that the friendliness of an encounter in chimp society varies directly with how widely the teeth are bared.

  But one must wonder if these smiles are always as straightforward and sincere as one might wish.

  Picture a river full of crocodiles, toothy grins gaping an enthusiastic welcome to all and sundry, no matter their race, colour, or creed. It kind of makes you think of the gauntlet of touts and drivers one is required to run upon arrival at the airport or out front of some hotels. Is this the Thai smile? They're all Thais, and
they're all smiling.

  Smiles, laughter, weeping, back-slapping, kissing, raising various configurations of extended fingers — all these forms of communication may indeed have some universal bases, but in different cultural and social contexts they can express very different things. Whatever their actual physiological or emotional origins, smiles have evolved into social actions — they are a form of non-verbal communication.

  Eleven different muscles are involved in facial expression, and several or all of these together may be involved in shaping any one smile. A smile can express quiet joy or sadness, admiration or malicious pleasure, pride or embarrassment, approval or scorn, even threat or fear. There is the leer of avarice and the quiet rapture of the ascetic. There are smirks and sneers. You may mistake a grimace for a smile: "Look, the baby's smiling!" Sure. Maybe. Or maybe he's just got gas. There is a medical condition known as Bell's palsy, in which a swollen nerve can cause facial paralysis resulting in a characteristic smile much like that of the Mona Lisa.

  There is even a type of behaviour psychiatrists call "smiling depression"; should the doctor fail to recognise the syndrome, he might have a suicide on his hands.

  The list could go on and on. A smile can represent all of these things within one and the same community. What potential, then, for misunderstanding between cultures.

  Once I went into a travel agency in Bangkok. It was a narrow little room, and I sat across the counter from three pleasant young ladies. A gentleman sat at a desk to one side. I pulled out my cigarettes and offered them around. Everyone declined, smiling big, almost joyful smiles. Judging by their expressions, the only thing marring their joy at my generosity was the fact that they didn't smoke and couldn't please me by taking a cigarette. I asked whether they minded if I smoked. "Not at all" They beamed at me some more. I didn't see an ashtray, so I asked if I could have one. "Of course." More smiles, and an ashtray appeared as though by magic.

  I had puffed away at a cigarette and a half, as we negotiated a trip to Malaysia, before I suddenly became aware of the notices on the wall behind the girls. They came in various sizes, all large, and in various colours, all bright They were written in Thai and English, the ones that didn't have the international "No-smoking" symbols on them. "Please do not smoke." "We ask you not to smoke; some of our staff have allergies." "Please, please don't smoke." And so on. There were more of them on the inside of the door through which I'd entered.

  To my way of thinking at the time, it would've been far more courteous for them to tell me directly they would prefer I didn't smoke, and thereby spare me the acute embarrassment I suffered when I discovered what a boor I was being.

  Do smiles mean the same thing from one culture to another? Not necessarily. Between two very different languages, there's no reason at all to expect the same word to mean the same thing. (Khee ray means "not beautiful" in Thai, for example, while in Japanese in means the exact opposite. "Maniac" in English is "madman"; in Gulf Arabic it means "habitual abuser of oneself ", and has an entirely different force if one hollers it at a careless driver.) What did the smiles of those lovely people in the travel agency mean? Perhaps it was appeasement behaviour — this uncouth farcing had already disregarded the basic social niceties; what further atrocities might he not be capable of if he weren't propitiated? Or maybe they were just amused at the barbarous habits of this creature. Or could it be they were merely reformed smokers glad at the chance to breathe smoke without actually smoking?

  A case could be made for any or all of these theories. In fact, however, I suspect those smiles simply reflected the typical warmth and tolerance of the Thai people.

  Some observers have felt that the width and frequency of the average Thai's smile seems to diminish in direct proportion to the enthusiasm with which this beautiful country is being touted as the "Land of Smiles". Nevertheless, you will still find more smiles per square metre here than just about anywhere else in the world except perhaps at a wet T-shirt contest.

  Many Thais are blessed with a capacity to live in the moment, and to treat that moment as something to be savoured. The smaller slings and arrows of existence can be shrugged off with a maipen rai— "Never mind." Though the stranger to this country should be cautious in his interpretation of situations and reactions, allowing for the danger of cultural misunderstandings, to a great extent the Thai smile speaks in quite uncomplicated terms of a

  secure self-confidence, a native joie de vivre, and a pleased interest in anyone who finds Thailand worthy of a visit.

  FAMOUS WRITERS DESCRIBE SOME SMILES

  · A famous writer on Patpong Road: "She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket."

  Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely

  · A famous writer who believed the tuk-tuk driver knew where they were going, and who now is trying to ascertain what they are doing at a shipyard, when it was really a stationer's on Silom Road she'd had in mind: The driver made vaguely reassuring gestures, "smiling encouragement like a clumsy dentist" and saying mai pen rai over and over again.

  Katherine Mansfield, Bank Holiday

  · Crammed onto the No. 2 bus in a hot-season rush hour, a famous writer steps on the bare toes of a Thai passenger for the second time in as many minutes: He turned to me with "a smile that snapped back after using, like a stretched rubber band."

  Sinclair Lewis, quoted in Reader's Digest (Aug. 1941)

  2 EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES

  Franz Kafka and Lewis Carroll might together begin to describe a day spent navigating the mysteries of the Air Cargo. But this is not merely another case of "Abandon hope all ye who enter this official quagmire". In the Thai way, there are always escape clauses.

  I am at Air Cargo, Don Meringue Airport, Muang Sarakan. This is my second day here at the mercy of sinister forces, obscure logics, and arbitrary rules.

  My guide and chief hope in this Wonderland has been the White Rabbit, a diminutive shipping agent who eats Rolaids by the handful and who scurries this way and that, slipping down this hall and that one quicker than the eye can follow. His refrain is "Wait for me here", which is reiterated as he whips past fast enough for the Doppler effect to distort the message: "waiiIIT FOR ME HEEerrre."

  I breathe deeply, and go back to watching my fellow travellers through this inner circle of Hell.

  Dealing with the bureaucracy of overseas cargo offices anywhere in the world is a punishing test of one's equanimity. No one can say he has truly achieved manhood until he has passed through the flame of the Air Cargo Department. My trials have entered their second day, but that's really my fault, as the pained and put-upon expression on the White Rabbit s face has told me again and again. If I had been willing to pay a sum of money, we could have been finished yesterday. However, I am not prepared to pay tax on a trunkful of old clothes, tapes, books, and notes. Unreasonable, I know; but there it is.

  I had assumed personal effects could be brought in duty-free, but that is true only in the first month after your arrival in the country. If you wait longer than that to have the goods shipped, you are liable to a tax. I can't even remember exactly what's in that blasted trunk. I'd written my friend in Kuwait and asked him to send it mostly because I felt guilty about leaving it at his place for as long as I had. I didn't actually need it, not at the price of shipping it by air (there is no surface cargo from Kuwait). And now they want to tax it into the bargain.

  "How," I have asked, "do you plan to calculate the value of this stuff so that you can establish what tax is due?"

  I haven't yet had a look at it. Until I sign certain forms agreeing to let them tax me, I can't even open it up to point triumphantly and say: "See? Those old clothes haven't even been washed." And: "Here. Look at these notes — complete rubbish. No value whatsoever, You should be paying me to take this junk away. Tax? How can you tax this stuff?"

  There is reason to believe I could expedite matters, circumventing both the calculation of taxes and the filling of forms ZX 1001 through ZY 2072, simply by offering a li
ttle "tea money". But this stuff is junk, and I resent having paid to ship it, even. Moreover, the particular official who needs tea subsidies has the most unpleasant manner of anyone I've ever met in Sarakan. He wouldn't get money out of me with an M-16.

  So, no, I can't see my trunk. Not till I've given Air Cargo prior licence to hit me for whatever they see fit. And I'm still not convinced that it's necessary; this whole business smacks of being a shakedown.

  It doesn't help that I speak limited Sarakanese — certainly not enough to enter into full verbal disputation with this mob. I am forced to communicate through the White Rabbit, and this hyperkinetic hare brain won't stand still long enough to hear me out before he's turned to the official, wincing and wai-ing and entreating in cringing tones. It's obvious to me that he's missing the finer dialectical subtleties of my position as I'm laying it out in English. He's also a bit too deferential for my liking. Of course I am not a Sarakanese.

  Central to the running of bureaucratic gauntlets, the basic maxim is that one must never show anger. If you should find yourself in one of these situations, my advice to you is write this down in big red letters on your hand or somewhere else you can't miss it: DO NOT SHOW YOUR ANGER. Losing your cool leaves you in a situation roughly equivalent to that of the individual who, when faced with a hungry tiger which has got up on the wrong side of the bed, snarls at it and tries to shove it aside. Don't get angry; just breathe deeply. And smile.

  In any case, if you have to deal with officialdom, I must admit the Sarakan version is preferable to most. It is true people in Sarakan love uniforms, and the least of those officials I've had to deal with has looked like a field marshal dressed for a coronation. This does present a daunting prospect; nevertheless, there are elements of flexibility and humanity leavening the process. If only I were better at speaking Sarakanese.

  I'm thinking of asking the White Rabbit for a couple of Rolaids. But he's off again: "Wait for me heeeerrrre..."