Archive for September, 2009

This morning, Jerry and I went to collect our new iPhones. I was looking forward to replacing my 1,000 baht piece of plastic crap, but there was one potential hurdle to overcome. For some inexplicable reason, True had decided that foreigners that wished to buy an iPhone had to provide evidence of a work permit. Now, to have a work permit I would have to work, and what is the point in doing that? However, armed with my retirement visa I felt I had a solid argument to present to the sales assistants:

So you won’t sell me a phone without a work permit?
Here is a copy of the tambien baan for my condo which I bought without a work permit.
Here is a copy of the book for my truck which I bought without a work permit.
Here is a piece of plastic crap from Nokia which I bought without a work permit.
I can go into the supermarket here and buy a TV and a washing machine and a computer and (continue listing hard goods till their eyes glaze over) without a work permit.
Now, sell me the sodding iPhone.

I should have been a lawyer.

In the event my masterful arguments were not required ‘cos they sold us the phones anyway. In fact the rather winsome sales assistant could not have been sweeter. I even tried to warn her that wearing a T-shirt sporting the slogan “I’m available” might garner her more attention than she wished, even if it did have a small logo of an iPhone underneath the tempting offer.

Jerry is an old-school Vista laptop don’t give me any of that Apple crap sort of guy, so it was back to my place for a spot of indoctrination training. Once we had got past a legion of Vista pop-ups telling us stuff we didn’t want to know, and his rather large fingers had coped with swiping and clicking, he was away; although his musical choice of Frank Sinatra and easy listening was something of a disappointment.

While all this was going on, she who must be obeyed had headed to Bangkok for the day. I had assumed it was for a spot of shopping, but she revealed that she was actually going to see a fortune teller. Oh dear. I am always concerned by such consultations, in case she is told things which potentially put me in a bad light, and I then have to defend myself against bollocks spouted by someone who has never met me.

The seer of choice was an Englishwoman called Angela who apparently is really really good, and therefore charges a really really high price for the pleasure of an hour of her time. And I have to agree, she is excellent. Not only did she seem to know things about my wife and myself which it would be rather hard to guess; but more importantly she said loads of good stuff about me which I can use to bolster my reputation at times of marital stress. She who must be obeyed was extra-pleased to see me when she got home, so that was nice. Fortune tellers called Angela, I am all for them.

The day was rounded off nicely by the discovery of a new album by Placebo and the downloading of same, together with the Imogen Heap’s gorgeous new offering onto my new phone; which I have already dropped once but have yet to lose.

Life can be so pleasant. And no work tomorrow because I don’t have a work permit.

Pattaya, the city where normal rules don’t apply.

Not true, but there are those here who fail to realise that with varying degrees of unfortunate consequences.

Sex. Take a ramble down Walking Street or one of the many other areas that cater to the flesh trade, and it’s easy to believe that anything goes here. And indeed it is true that you can probably indulge any sexual fantasy that floats your boat (unless it involves a donkey; they are in short supply. Not that I care. A friend told me. Really). But the reality is that Thailand is a very conservative country in such matters. Watch Thai couples together and you will see them holding hands, but no more than that. She who must obeyed is more liberal than most, but it we would never kiss in public; it’s just not done.

Thais are remarkably tolerant of the ways of the farang, and will tolerate public displays of affection to an extent; but having sex in public is a naked bouncy bum too far; as Hashom Abdli from Iran and his girlfriend found out this week. The police were alerted by a large crowd on onlookers on Jomtien beach, many recording the event on their phones.

In Iran, even holding hands in public is banned, so Hashom and his babe must have been delighted to come to Thailand and find they could hold hands. I suspect they even stole the occasional kiss; and with a few litres of alcohol to fire the loins, it was inevitable that one thing would lead to another, as in: Holding hands, kissing, sex on the beach, five hundred baht fine and a video probably uploaded to the internet which even now is being reviewed by the public morals police in Tehran. Enjoy the rest of your holiday Hashom. Good luck when you get home.

Drugs. A relaxed, mai pen rai attitude to sex, alcohol and life; what’s the harm with doing some drugs? Nothing really, apart from the possibility of the death sentence or, the infinitely worse, life in prison. Do drugs in Thailand and you are asking for big trouble; sell drugs in Thailand and say goodbye to the rest of your life. Drug abuse here is a huge problem and there is no compassion for the dealers who are caught. Double the jeopardy if you are a foreigner; it’s bad enough if Thais are screwing up the lives of their countrymen, but if you are a farang… In addition, the drugs trade is rumoured to be controlled by powerful interests who are not impressed by outsiders muscling in on the action, so you are at risk from the law and those working outside the law. But still they do it.

This week we have had three cases in Pattaya. The first was a Norwegian guy who used to be one of those black-shirted police volunteers who wander around Walking Street throwing their weight about to compensate for their small penises helping people. Then there was a British man who was caught selling Yah Ice which sounds like a Germanic pop group, but isn’t. Finally, in a show of EU solidarity, a 21 year old Frenchman was nicked for the same crime. All three will now be in Bangkok helping the narcotics suppression unit with their enquiries and are unlikely to see the outside of a prison cell for some time. Still, it forms the basis for a joke: An Englishman, a Norwegian and a Frenchman walk into a bar and a policeman says “you’re nicked”. Needs some work.

And finally, dickhead death. Just as many believe that they can do what they want in Thailand when it comes to sex and drugs; others believe that somehow the laws of physics and common sense no longer apply, because they are on holiday. So why not rent a monster bike and ride it like an idiot in the middle of the city? Because you will die, that’s why. Just like Michael Dalton who was racing his mate on an 800cc bike yesterday, and ran straight into the front of a truck. More support for Darwin’s theory.

So, Spike’s top tips for an enjoyable stay in Thailand:
1. Don’t have sex on the beach. Not even with yourself.
2. Don’t do drugs, anywhere. Apart from caffeine, in which case stay away from the new coffee stall in Central that offers free chocolates; their coffee is sludge.
3. Don’t hire a huge bike and drive it like a dickhead. Rent a small bike and drive it like a dickhead; broken legs mend eventually.

Stick with the classical dance shows and traditional massage and you can’t go wrong. Apart from dying of boredom.

Driving down Jomtien Beach I find yet another concrete box courtesy of View Talay. These monstrosities are dotted all over town and a banner tells me this is number eight. Hundreds of studios, not enough lifts, and dubious construction standards; we really don’t need any more of these but are very likely to be up to number ten before too long. Shudder.

Khun Wimon was a happy young lady who arrived in Pattaya for a bit of a holiday. She went to an ATM on Jomtien beach and withdrew 10,000 baht. She was promptly set upon by two thugs who stole her bag containing the money and mobile phones, and then punched her in the stomach. “I’m never coming to Pattaya again” exclaimed the shocked Khun Wimon, lying in hospital clutching her stomach.

Well, probably not. Because the next morning she checked out of hospital after the doctors could find nothing wrong with her, and is now being sought by the police whose inspection of the CCTV footage at the ATM showed that she had never withdrawn any money. Apparently she has a nationwide history of fraudulently extracting sympathy and cash by inventing crimes.

Meanwhile, and of considerably less importance, the Polish President Lech Kaczynski has been upsetting the ceremony to mark the 70th anniversary of the start of the second world war by complaining about the Russians. Blah blah blah, Nazi-Soviet non-aggression pact, blah blah blah, 22,000 people massacred at Kratyn, blah blah blah.

Hang on; 22,000 people? In 1940, the soviets took 22,000 doctors, engineers, lawyers, teachers and army officers to a forest in Katyn and shot them all in the back of the head; at a stroke wiping out the more educated portion of Polish society. Then they blamed it on the Germans and covered up the truth for fifty years. Even now they refuse to acknowledge this as being a war crime.

Normally, this sad little fact is something you would probably just skip through when reading the news about the Poles bitching about the Russians. But it happened to coincide with my watching of a movie called “Katyn”, and you can guess what it is about.

Director Andrzej Wajda’s father was one of the victims, so he has a compelling reason to make the movie; and it is worthy of the Oscar nomination it received. The story is told from the point of view of the soldiers who were interned and eventually shot, and their families waiting for them in an environment reeking of suspicion, control and obvious lies. It’s a sombre tale, and wartime Poland looks as bleak as you would imagine it to be. Don’t expect any jokes, do expect to be moved. The ending, which is a protracted recreation of the massacre, is chilling.

It does put an idiot woman who pretends to have been punched in the stomach into perspective.