An ordinary life in an extra-ordinary place
Archive for August, 2009
Having just had my residential qualifications challenged by the visa for India process, it was something of a shock to find myself being treated as a second-class resident yet again. This time the culprit was True, the company that has the contract to sell the iPhone in Thailand.
Having eagerly gone through the booking process to order the phone, I then took the time to read the small print. This is the small print:
When I pick up the phone they want a copy of my work permit. Which of course I don’t have, unless they will settle for the version from 2004. If it’s good enough for the Indian embassy it should be good enough for True.
This is nonsense and I decide to go down the the True Office and have a good old moan about it. On the way there I practice my diatribe.
You want a work permit? To buy a phone?!! I have bought a condo without a work permit! I have bought cars without a work permit! I am a subscriber to your generally crap satellite TV service without having a work permit!
I think of all the other stuff that I have bought without a work permit which I can add in to the argument if things get rough. I am not sure what I want to achieve. A refund? No, I just want the bloody phone with a minimum of hassle.
Suitably steamed up, I arrive at the True office, which is actually just a small stall in a supermarket. It is staffed by a very cute young lady who is very eager to help me and all thoughts of shouting just disappear. He English is slightly better than my Thai (i.e. crap), so we make slow progress. There are many phone calls made to colleagues and it soon becomes clear that she has no idea what a work permit actually looks like. Her main concern seems to be that I really have a passport. Once I have assured that I do, it seems that all I have to do is turn up with a copy of that, plus a copy of something else which we can agree to call a work permit.
We part as excellent friends and agree to meet again on the 28th when I will give her a pile of money, a copy of my passport, and a copy of my grandfather’s ration card. And she will give me a phone.
These products are available in major shopping malls. The purpose of the Hangover Relief is self-evident. The other two are open to interpretation; answers below please.
I used to be a Nokia user. Nokia made phones that work. On the more expensive models, the hardware was OK, on the cheaper models it was crap. The software was universally awful.
Then, for my birthday two years ago, she who must be obeyed presented me with an iPhone. Naturally I berated her for spending so much of her money on something that was, after all, just a phone. Then after about ten minutes I discovered that it wasn’t. The phone bit was almost irrelevant; it was a music player, a movie watcher, a games player, a web browser; it was a constant source of information and entertainment and it has never left my side since, except when I have lost it or dropped it, or both. The iPhone is one of the smartest pieces of design it has ever been my pleasure to own.
But now it is broken. The speaker which broadcasts the voice of the person calling you, doesn’t. I can survive by using the headphones, and if I took it to one of the many shops that deal in these things I could probably have it fixed for a few baht. But indulgence needs excuses, and the breakdown happily coincides with the announcement that the iPhone 3GS can now be ordered for delivery at the end of this month. And so I did.
iPhone 3GS, 16GB Black, collect at Big C South Pattaya on 28th August 2009.
Techno-joy.
I am gratified to discover that I have been invited to attend the second round of the Indian National Rally Championship in Bangalore, and photograph it. This is a good thing for three reasons:
1. It means an immediate elevation in status from Pattaya hack snapper to international sports photographer, at least in my warped perception.
2. I have never been to India and I want to go.
3. Roti Porotta (a.k.a Roti Chanai in Malaysia where I used to consume it as often as possible). I want to try the real thing in India.
A visa for India is therefore required, so off to Bangkok to present myself and my papers at the outsourcing agency which handles such things. My experience of embassy officials from a variety of countries has never been positive, it would be fair to summarise them as arrogant twats, especially the creatures that stalk the halls of the British Embassy. I hopefully assume that the more removed confines of an outsourcing office will lead to a less officious environment; and it is partially true.
There is a minor confusion upon my arrival when they, not surprisingly, wish to retain my camera; but as a result of all that excitement they then fail to give me a queue number. I am then accosted by three separate lackeys in the main office who are convinced that a lack of a queue number means I have failed to complete my forms. Having shown all of them that I have all the forms, have completed them perfectly and am in need of a small trolley to support the reams of photocopied supporting information that I have brought along “just in case”, I am finally given a number and ushered to a seat to wait my turn.
For understandable reasons, the procedure for Thai and non-Thai residents of Thailand is more simple than for those who are in Thailand but not resident. I am therefore keen to prove my “more than 3 years residence” eligibility and thrust a pile of copies of my retirement visa into the hands of the man behind the (probably bullet-proof) glass.
He scans them dolefully. Judging by his face, there is a problem.
“What is this?” he enquires.
“A retirement visa” I answer with a big smile, a cheery voice and a sinking feeling.
“Oh. It would be better if you had a work permit”.
“I agree, then I could afford to send someone else here to deal with you, rather than wasting my time with this nonsense”.
No, I didn’t say that. Instead I suggested gently that a retirement visa was equally valid evidence of residence, that I used to have a work permit, but have been retired for some five years.
At this he moves from doleful to optimistic. Do I still have the work permits in my passport? I rummage through my extensive collection of back-up material and extract an old passport. I show him a page sporting my work permit from 2004.
“Copy this”, and he points triumphantly at the work permit stamp
“But it only proves I was working here in 2004″ Think to myself, stop arguing. “Still, if this is what you need…..”
“No sir (smugly), it’s what you need”
And apparently it was what I needed because now I have my visa.
On the journey home I am determined not to be caught by the speed-trap nazis. Convinced they will flag me down whatever speed I am doing, I rig a camera on the steering wheel and video myself doing a ridiculously slow 60kph in the run up to the speed camera location. Takes ages and several vehicles almost ram me up the rear as they race towards certain capture and fines. I arrive at the toll booth, smug in the knowledge that, if they try it on with me, I have evidence of my innocence.
There are no policemen there. Bastards.
Back to Pattaya and it was windy, so off for an hour or so of windsurfing, just what was needed after a trip to Bangkok. Took the back roads to go home and discovered my day was not to be entirely police free; because a one policeman road block was standing in the middle of a little-used lane; wtf?
He waved me down and I opened the window and gave him a big smile and a “sawadee krap”. He smiled back and inspected my insurance disk on the windscreen. Thumbs up and “very good” he said. Then he looked behind my seat where I had stuffed the large plastic sheet from the carpet expedition.
“What’s that?” he enquired, and I lifted the sheet with a magician’s flourish to show that there was nothing hidden beneath. “No man, very good!” he exclaimed with real pleasure, and waved me on my way.
Pleased to have cleared as a potential people smuggler, I waved back and left him with a parting shot: “I’m a resident you know.”
Antony is a well-known figure at the windsurfing club. He drives a smart car, lives in a smart condo, and the official reason for his affluence is that he provides “bathroom accessories” (soap, shampoo etc.) to major hotel chains.
However, Pattaya Days has uncovered damning evidence that Antony spends his leisure time looting the bathrooms of luxury hotels to feed his kleptomaniac tendencies. How else to explain the sackfuls of fragrant offerings he furtively brought round to my condo and asked me to photograph. No doubt he wanted to share photos of his acquisitions with his like-minded friends around the world; toiletry porn.
I felt a bit guilty at feeding his obsession, but I had never photographed “product” before, so first I had to establish a suitable platform. Regular readers who marvelled at the construction miracle that was my blue pipe SUP frame, will be saddened to know that it is no more. But wipe away those tears, for now it is born again as “product photography frame, version 2″. (Version 1 was a bit of a disaster and will be discussed no further).
Several hours later, after playing with backing sheets, pieces of acrylic and lighting, I realised product photography is not as easy as it may appear. Still we managed some shots which are already gracing the private galleries of toiletry aficionados around the world. Their minds may be murky, but at least their hands are clean.
In yesterday’s post I mentioned that she who must be obeyed has a new internet obsession, Pet Society. Initially I was pleased that the poker craze had passed and that she now spent her time fiddling about with building houses and furnishings for a virtual animal. But there is a darker side to Pet Society, and its colour is brown, and it’s poo.
Here’s a picture that she who must be obeyed posted on Facebook this morning:
It’s a happy scene. SWMBO’s pet, posing with another pet, each with an ice cream sundae. And what is that beneath the table? Some chocolate macaroons for later perhaps? A particularly shaggy brown carpet? No, it is poo.
Getting your pet to poo is somewhat of an achievement. So when it does, you are tempted to keep it on display for other Pet Society players, who are apparently the sort of people who are impressed by piles of poo. There have even been surveys conducted about the frequency of pooing:
SWMBO, who is normally obsessive about personal hygiene and the need to always smell good, has no problem with this concept and is now hoping that her pet will excrete some of the mystical golden or multi-coloured poo which would give her cult status in the very weird world of Pet Society.
Pet Society is a shit game. Literally.
If it’s 0300, then it must be….
For a typical visitor to Pattaya, the answer would be “time that I had a bar girl for every orifice.” But for a computer gamer, the answer will be one of those totally absorbing games where minutes turn to hours and before you know it, dawn is breaking.
For me, nearly twenty years ago, if was 0300 then it was Railroad Tycoon. This was an early offering from Sid Meier, who went on to develop Civilization, surely the most time absorbing game of all time.
Blessed with the crude graphics of the day, Railroad Tycoon, not surprisingly, required you to run a Railroad, in competition with a motley collection of computer controlled robber barons. The challenge was to match supply and demand, bringing together resources from around the country. Sounds a bore, but it was wonderfully diverting and hours (days) would pass very easily. You can download it (legally) for free here.
Now, if it’s 0300, then it must be AD 1404, Dawn of Discovery. It’s Railroad Tycoon on crack, using boats instead of trains to manage more than 100, often related, resources to supply an increasingly restless population in both an Occidental and Oriental world. And oh dear me it is addictive.
Yesterday I had a message from the game that I had been playing for four hours and maybe I should take a break for a cup of coffee. Then I had a message that I had been playing for six hours and I really should stop for a while. Trouble is, I had stopped after four hours and the six hour message was after starting a new sessions, so that was at least ten hours of play yesterday; and I don’t want to think about how long I played it last week.
It’s one of those “just need to do one more thing” games; and once you have done the thing, another one comes along. You can choose how you want to play. There is a campaign, there are set scenarios, or you can customise your own scenario; but whatever you decide to do, you can say goodbye to around 30 hours of your life. And that’s just for one scenario.
I decided to do the Master Builder scenario, which emphasises the building of big cities with limited interference from angry computer players. It all starts easily enough with peasants demanding no more than fish and cider. But as time progresses your city grows and welcomes citizens, patricians and finally noblemen, who are like spoiled, demanding children. When they first moved in, they triggered a shortage of books, and before I could ramp up book production ( just need wood, indigo, a paper mill and a printing press) they were rioting in the streets, threatening to burn the city. Books supplied, they demanded wine (simple, just bring together an iron mine, iron smelter, charcoal burner, wood, barrel cooperage, vineyard and wine press and transport the resulting wine half way across the world). Suitably tanked up on alcohol and reading, they now decide they want reading glasses (quartz, copper etc. etc.). Meantime, the lesser ranks start grumbling because the increase in population is leaving them short of what they deem to be essentials, so it is off to increase supplies of bread and fish and and..
It’s challenging, but it is also enormously enjoyable, not least because it looks so good, especially if you can run it on the highest graphic settings. From high above there is not a lot to see:
But get in close and it is quite beautiful, with people walking around and talking, flags fluttering, and chimneys smoking. Screen shots do not do it justice.
On the southern islands the look is quite different, with nomad settlements and produce that needs to be shipped to the demanding population up north:
Apart from setting up the various production chains, you inevitably need to move stuff around the islands of your world. Soon you will have a fleet of ships to manage, and protect from marauding pirates and other players.
And what is she who must be obeyed up to while I am endlessly absorbed in 1404? Playing “Pet Society” on Facebook; a game of fishing for doughnut fish and collecting poo as far as I can gather. Don’t care as long as it keeps her interested while I am keeping my noblemen happy.
Oh, now they are demanding brocade robes (silk, gold etc. etc.). Excuse me, I have to go.
What’s wrong with this picture? There is a large skip, full of concrete, swinging around on a crane. The men handling it have no hard hats, no safety boots, and at least one of them is standing in an unsafe place. There are several terrible accidents just waiting to happen. And nobody gives a shit.
The workers probably care, but they are from Cambodia and just grateful for the pitiful wages they receive. Every one else up the food chain, from their employer through to the not insubstantial company that is having the restaurant built. cares only about minimising cost and maximising profits; and if that means that a lowly worker is killed or crippled; well there are plenty more where he/she came from.
It gets worse:
Worse than doing nothing, you stick up a Safety First sign to pretend you care, and then do nothing. Obscene hypocrisy.
And no, it doesn’t have to be this way in Thailand. In my previous life I worked in the oil industry here and the work was conducted and managed by Thais to international safety standards. It just needs management attention and relatively little money; a small price to pay to keep people safer.
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