Not all fun and games

Yeah, hard as it is to believe, there are downsides to upping sticks and moving to a tropical paradise to start a new life.

The last week and a half have been a whirlwind – the epic journey; moving into a new flat; training for a new job; trying to get to grips with an utterly alien language; building a new network of friends – and while it’s mostly been a blast, it does get hard at times. Really hard.

The jetlag doesn’t help. For some reason when I came over to train at Fairtex a few months back my body clock managed to adjust in just a few days, probably because of the intensive training schedule. This time it’s just not working, I’m forced to operate on a couple of hours sleep a night in an environment which would be draining at the best of times. So far I’ve been able to get away with it because I’ve just been shadowing Nikki while she takes her classes but next week I’ll be the teacher and will have to actually be awake, alert, totally in control. As much as I hate to admit it, it looks like some heavy duty sleeping pills are going to be the only solution in the short term.

The language barrier is getting to me as well. After a while it starts to become just a tad annoying knowing that you can only eat in a handful of places, the select few with English menus. I know a few phrases and managed to successfully buy a few chicken skewers at a night market stall using only Thai but that’s the limit of my abilities. Keep in mind that they have a totally different alphabet so even trying to guess at foods on a Thai menu is out of the question for now.

And then there’s the loneliness. Yeah I’ve built up a good circle of friends so far but it’s not like back home. They’re more acquaintances, drinking buddies, folk you can stop and chat to in passing, but there’s nothing like the close friendships I left back in Scotland. That takes time, and the worst thing about the present situation is that most of the people I really get on with so far are leaving in a couple of months, that’s just something that comes with the job. There’ll be an equal influx of new faces to balance it out of course but the real friendship thing is going to take time.

And romance.

Yeah, that old chestnut I gave up on many moons ago.

A lot of guys here get settled with Thai girlfriends but for me the language barrier would be too much of a problem for that, I need to be able to communicate 100% with someone in a relationship. That leaves the western girls but there are all sorts of other problems there. For starters most are already taken! There is one lass I have foolishly manage to fall for, a beautiful, smart, funny girl who arrived a couple of days after me, but it seems so far to be a one-way attraction. In any case I’ve partly forgotten how you even approach this sort of thing and, even if I could remember, part of me’s still too shit-scared to make a move anyway, still hurting from last year’s events. I just miss having someone to confide in, someone to reassure and who’ll reassure me, someone to play with. You have no idea how much that would help with all the other problems.

Chances are all this shit will sort itself out soon, I’ll acclimatise, adjust to the new sleeping patterns, pick up the lingo, sort out the friendship/relationship thing and everything will be hunky-dory; living the dream. Till then I guess I just have to accept that there are going to be bad times mixed in with the good, just roll with the punches and keep on truckin’.

I’ve dealt with a fuck of a lot worse after all.

PS, to Sarah The Ex – I now totally appreciate why you were sounding so miserable on Messenger when you first got to Berlin.

PPS – Since writing this I’ve been for a muckle night out (8pm till 5/6am!), had a braw time and generally chilled out :p

First day

Today (or yesterday, or a few months ago, depending on when I get round to posting this) I started my training for the teaching job – tired, sweaty and shitting myself by the time I was at the end of my Soi. That’s wee street in Thai. Get used to weird and wonderful words appearing here However, it seems I may have precious little to worry about; I’m pleased to report it all went swimmingly and I emerged unscathed.

My first two classes are in Suratpittaya School which is one of the local high schools, and a pretty large one at that with a roll call of something like 3,500 students. It was pretty daunting to begin with, not only is it a veritable rabbit warren of a place but my ‘guide’ had only been there three times previously so hadn’t a clue where anything was. Thankfully I met up with Nikki, the teacher I’m replacing, and she managed to give me a bit more of a feel for the place after classes.

As of 26^th October (yeah, I don’t start actually working for fecking ages) I’ll have two classes in this school, both the equivalent of first year back in Scotland i.e. between maybe 12 and 14 years old. Class size is about 30-odd students which cause me a bit of terror – I’d only taught classes of less than ten before – but it turns out they’re actually pretty well behaved. Even better than that, they actually seem fun and (gasp) even enjoy learning. Their English isn’t too bad so you can actually conversations with them and they enjoyed pelting me with a barrage of questions before the class began.

Favourite one had to be “Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”. Nice open-minded bunch

For this week I’m only shadowing Nikki so it’s a case of sit back and observe, trying to get a feel for the level of their abilities, who the shy/outspoken ones are and who’ll need a bit of attention on the discipline front. Still, I can’t see these ones being much trouble. Touch wood, fingers crossed, stab a jakey, etc. The only unfortunate thing is that I’ve arrived at the end of a semester so it’s time for tests and revision, not the run-of-the-mill classes which will make up the bulk of the year.

Meh. It’ll be fine.

After two classes at Suratpattaya it was time to head up the road to The Language, a private language school and the place which officially employs me and farms my labours out to the school. It’s a very different story here, these are after-school classes which cost the parents a small fortune, are much smaller (my two classes are 12 and 6 strong respectively) and seem to be, so far anyway, better structured. Again the kids were in pretty strong spirits although they seemed to need a bit more of a prod than my high school ones. In any case the lessons were fairly similar to those from earlier on, similar levels of ability and leaving me feeling similarly settled about my future here.

Afterwards, at the end of a rather tiring 10-hour day, it was off to a restaurant on the river for a spot of curry and a mixed berry smoothie with Nick, Jeff, Nikki and Michelle.

Back to the flat.

Write this post.

Off to bed.

Got a much more civilised start tomorrow – noon from now on – so going to get back to my old morning workouts. Maybe a bit of good old-fashioned endorphin-fuelled exhaustion will finally give the sleeping patterns the last little nudge they need to put me on an even keel.

Goodbye for now, or as we say in Thailand, au revoir.

(PS – It’s now the next morning, completely failed on the whole workout thing cause I’m still having a bit of trouble with sleep and a lot of trouble finding breakfast. Sure it’ll all come together in time )

It’s raining, it’s pouring

Just got my first taster of the impending monsoon season after emerging from my first session at the woefully-equipped-but-at-sixty-quid-a-year-I-ain’t-complaining local gym. After a grey, humid day the threatening skies finally let loose, with me stranded a twenty minute walk from the flat. Thankfully there are tuk-tuks all over the place so I wasn’t too soaked, although the one I ended up in was in such a comical state of disrepair I ended up with soaked feet and the driver spent most of  the journey wiping the running water off the inside of the windscreen. I had the chap drop me off at the dry, cosy internet cafe where I’m typing this and supping the prettiest latte I’ve ever had.

Apparently though, today’s drenching was nothing compared to what’s looming on the horizon. Come November it’s gonna get serious.  Proper rain for proper people. We’re talking about a constant wall of water descending from the sky, where you’ll be literally soaked to the skin within seconds of standing outside.

Personally I can’t wait, one of the reasons I hate rain in Scotland is that it’s invariably one of two kinds – either pissy, pathetic, verging-on-but-not-quite rain or it’s the intensely annoying horizontal variety which invariably occurs in the coldest temperatures and feels like someone chucking tiny shards of broken glass at your face. Monsoon rain, although I’ve yet to properly experience it, is so intense it’s not even worth getting grumpy about it, you just don either a heavy-duty mac or a pair of swimming trunks and make the most of it.

Actually, that’s a point. I know that at least a  couple of folk who read this were hinting at maybe coming to visit in the not-too-distant future. If that means any time before next year then I recommend holding off till the rain is well and truly gone. There will be nothing to do as all the national parks become no-go areas (flooding, leeches, etc) and the locals who are the life and soul of the  place tend to stay indoors more than normal. You can imagine that street markets aren’t much cop when you have to swim from stall to stall…

On another note, got yet another party tonight, this time for a lovely fella called Rob who’s heading back to the UK. Could involve some rooftop fun if the weather improves a little; we were on the roof of his place drinking at three o’clock this morning, it was exceptionally cool and I’m actually considering leaving the free accommodation I’m in and taking over the lease there when his two flatmates leave in November. If I can find two more willing accomplices to move in it’s only 2,000 baht (£40) per month including bills for a significantly shinier place than my current abode. Less than 10% of my salary – winner.

Final thing before I go. I’ve succumbed to the lure of the moped – everyone here has one – and may try to buy one tomorrow, assuming I can find some veteran willing to help me pick out a decent one for a decent price. I was just going to get a pedal bike but the extra range of the moped plus the impending rains makes it a more  sensible choice. I’ll probably end up with both but the moped is top of the priority list right now. If I’m successful I’ll post some pics right away. Excited

Epic journey, epic post

Fuck me, that was a trek and a half.

Started off nice and easy with a taxi to the train station and noon on Monday, the first hint of trepidation brewing at the back of my head although remaining drowned out by the chorus of confusion, excitement and adrenalin. From Waverley it was a pretty damned comfortable four and a half hours in first class (£80 for 1^st class, £100 for standard – sort your shit out Mr Train Company) with a couple of beers and some laptop-based entertainment to keep me going.

As luck would have it the train arrives in King’s Cross where you can hop on the Picadilly line straight out to Heathrow, no messing about. No delays en route meant I was left with a few hours to kill once I got there, would rather have jumped straight on a plane but never mind.

My flight was with Jet Air. They suck balls. Seriously. Customer service was non-existent, the food was like a throwback to seventies airline meals and my seatback screen broke about three hours into the flight. On pointing this out to a steward he re-assured me that they’d fix it once we landed in Mumbai. Thanks a fucking lot. At least I’d had time to watch the last Star Trek film before it died – much better than I’d expected and cleverly written so as to avoid Trekkies complaining about inconsistency with the original series if they go on to make more.

After a thoroughly boring eight or nine hours we touched down in Mumbai where I had a three-hour stopover. Man that airport is a shithole. Grumpy security guards sticking AK-47s in your face, no cash machines, fuck all to do in general. Longest three hours ever.

Finally boarded a plane to Bangkok, much smaller than the previous one and crammed in like cattle. The Jet Air suckfest continues unabated. It was a real feeling of relief to get into Bangkok airport (for my money the best airport I’ve ever visited). I got a cab to my hotel, stumbled into the place and was shown to my room.

Fuck me. It was a fucking palace. After 24 hours of solid sleepless travel it was like I’d died and gone to heaven. All shiny and new, a massive bed, awesome city view (8^th floor), fully stocked minibar and fridge, all the bells and whistles. Oh, and seeing as it was round the corner from Nana Plaza, one of Bangkok’s three red light districts, they even provided a few packs of assorted condoms right next to the sachets of coffee and sugar

For some reason my body decided that I didn’t deserve to sleep yet and started pumping me full of adrenaline so I took a wander to find a bite to eat and have a couple of beers to help me nod off. There was no question of where to go, had to go check out the wonders of Nana Plaza. Now this is all fun and games when you’re with a crowd but on your own? Feels seriously sleazy. I wasn’t there to partake in the fornicatory festivities, just wanted to peoplewatch, but I still felt mildly uncomfortable just being on the fringes. I settled on an open-fronted bar outside the main action area as I didn’t feel like being bombarded with lassies looking for business, not with my head in the state it was at any rate. Fun game to play if you find yourself in the same situation – Spot The Paedo. It’s horrifyingly easy and makes your skin crawl after about five minutes of non-stop scoring.

A few (okay, five or six) beers later I made my way back, collapsed unconscious for about eight hours and headed back out to the airport. I had a couple of hours before the flight so I wandered around the shops and beheld the following spectacle. An Aussie (subhu)man was obviously confused about the way pricing works in Bangkok. Generally if you’re buying goods from a market or a street stall you’ll be expected to negotiate but if it’s a normal shop (like Duty Free) and the items have printed price tickets then that is the price. No haggling, no tourist rip-offs, you just pay it. It’s not rocket science – stalls are for bargaining, shops aren’t. The guy’s patter went along the following lines:

“Give me your best price” (on an expensive-looking watch)

“That is the price sir”

“No, give me your best price, I’m not paying that”

“Sir, that is the price on the ticket”

“No it’s not, I want your best price”

“If you spend over 15,000 baht we offer a 10% discount”

“I’M NOT INTERESTED IN A DISCOUNT, JUST GIVE ME YOUR BEST PRICE!”

“The price is what it says on the item sir”

“GIVE ME YOUR BEST PRICE RIGHT NOW! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME YOUR BEST PRICE I’M LEAVING!!!”

“…”

Thankfully at this point he stormed off with fists waving and expletives flying, thirty seconds longer and I swear to god I was about to lamp the fucker. Anyway, the fun was over and it was time to get my ass to Surat Thani.

The flight was short and uneventful, ending on a runway that looked like it was constantly fighting to keep the surrounding jungle at bay. Seriously, looking out the window just before touchdown I swore we were about to touch down in the middle of the trees, the runway was all but invisible. I was met by Emma, head teacher at The Language, who ferried me into town, giving me a quick guided tour on the way.

First impressions? A bit ramshackle, kinda similar to Bangplee, but randomly scattered with lovely temples, parks and pubs. Actually it was better than I expected – I’d kinda tricked myself into expecting a real hole in the hope that on arrival anything would be better than the image in my head First stop was my flat – photos to arrive soon – and an introduction to Jasper and Tallulah, two of my flatmates. Don’t worry about the names, they’re kittens. By Thai standards the place is pretty impressive, by Western standards a bit shabby, but I’ll soon sort that out. My room is basic and functional but James and Jeff are moving out in a couple of months so I’ll inherit the master bedroom, replete with en-suite. Oh, and apparently we have about the only oven in Surat Thani, handy if I ever get bored of 50p Thai meals from restaurants and street vendors. Fat chance.

Emma then ferried me to Tesco (yeah, the fuckers are everywhere) to pick up some supplies, a new phone (cheaper and easier than unlocking my UK one) and to see a bit more of the town. Eventually got home and met the flatmates and neighbours, tried in vain to unpack (brain seriously dying by this point) and spent a long time sitting in front of an electric fan.

As luck would have it I arrived on the day of a big leaving bash; one of the teachers and his Thai girlfriend are heading north to Chiang Mai to open a restaurant. We had dinner at a lovely restaurant on the rive and I was introduced to about twenty teachers and their friends, only about five of whose names I can remember at this point. Afterwards we went on to Big’s bar, just around the corner from my flat and one of the coolest pubs I’ve ever been in. It’s more like a living room than a pub, totally laid back and informal, festooned with english language books which you’re free to borrow and a lax attitude to opening hours (if you’re still thirsty we’re still open). Cue several hours of drink, chat and general jet-lagged confusion before finally hitting the sack at about 5:30am.

Finally woke yesterday at half two in the afternoon, still confused and not a little lost. Had a wander around town, stumbled on a local cafe with free wi-fi, came back and wrote this. And that’s it so far. Heading back to Big’s for the fortnightly pub quiz and will hopefully pick up some more local hints and tips – no idea about laundry and various essentials so far.

Toodle-pip for now, will no doubt have a lot more to post once I’ve found my bearings, re-arranged my poor brain and started teaching/training…

Postscript – joined a team with three random strangers for the pub quiz and we stormed to victory, according to them all thanks to me. How my jet-lagged brain managed it I have no idea but we ended up 1,100 baht richer for our efforts. Ended the night in the smaller of Surat Thani’s two clubs and  was introduced to the strange custom of guys coming up to you and offering you a drink of their beer/whatever as a gesture of friendship. Odd, and a little disconcerting coming from Scotland, but kinda sweet all the same.

Panic stations!!!

Holy shit, in two hours from now I’m going to be on a train to London, followed swiftly by a tube to Heathrow, a flight to Bangkok, a quick overnight stay and finally a flight to Surat Thani. For a year at least. What the fuck am I doing? As Si pointed out yesterday I’m probably going to have a face-slapping Home Alone-style “Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!” moment as soon as the plane leaves the tarmac.

Wait a minute though, it was just a few weeks back I was chiding Sarah the ex for similar apprehensions surrounding her departure to Berlin. She was doing almost exactly the same thing (run away to a foreign country where you don’t speak the language in order to teach for a year or so) and she’s survived admirably so far. So it can’t be all that bad, right?

All I really have left to do is find a tenant for my flat (before I go broke), sort out the travel insurance (before I get hospitalised) and get a gin and tonic (before my brain actually notices what I’m doing). Essentially everything is sorted.

Still, it feels a hell of a lot more momentous than that. Feels like I’ve still got everything to do and no idea where I’m going. Panic, panic, panic! Why don’t I have an A-Team to drug my milk?

Oh well, too late to do anything about it. Going to call a cab, play some guitar and try to relax. Will post updates when I get to bangkok, or en route if possible.

See y’all in Thailand…

Happy tummy!

Today I am eternally grateful to Jon and Rachel for suggesting that we try the tasting menu at The Kitchin, Tom Kitchin’s Michelin-starred place down in Leith. We headed in last night at a slightly unusual 9:15pm and, well, let’s just say the rules of the food game have now changed forever.  Right now I’m kinda rushed and would need hours to do the whole thing justice so in the meantime I’m just going to tell you what we were treated to. I could just photograph the wee souvenir menu and post it instead but I want to actually write it by hand so I can relive every single mind-blowing course.

Oh, and we had a specially selected wine with each course. Fuck me. Wine never used to taste like that…

Appetiser
Chilled broccoli soup served with a blue cream cheese

Mackerel
Tartare of mackerel from Eyemouth, served with apple and cooked and raw beetroot from the Isle Of Arran

Razorfish (Spoots)
Razorfish from Arisaig, cooked to order and served with diced vegetables, chorizo and lemon confit (this one had squid in it too but the menu doesn’t mention it for some reason)

Pig’s Head & Scallop
Boned and rolled pig’s head, served with a hand-dived scallop from Orkney and a crispy ear salad

Turbot
Poached wild turbot from Scrabster, served with ink pasta and a saffron and summer vegetable sauce (the sauce tasted like what you get on good sticky toffee pudding – shouldn’t work but it was outstanding!)

Lamb
Rump of lamb from Dornoch, served with roasted artichoke, stuffed tomato and garlic confit

Cheese
A selection of Scottish and French cheeses served from the trolley (this was optional and I almost passed it up, sooooo glad I didn’t)

Dessert
Hibiscus panacotta served with creme fraiche sorbet and a redcurrant consomme

To top it all off I had some delicious peppermint tea accompanied by a selection of petits fours, all of which were obviously amazing. From now on every single meal I have is going to be compared to this and will inevitably come up wanting.

So there you have it. My name is Kitchin, cook of cooks. Look on my food ye mighty and despair…

(More regular posting to resume once I get back to Thailand in a few days, honest.)

The pasty’s (almost) over

Fuck me, has it really been two and a half weeks already?

I’m now counting down the training sessions till it’s time to hop on a plane back to my dull, dreich homeland. It may be clichéd to say time flies when you’re having fun but it doesn’t make it any less true, I could swear I just arrived a couple of days ago and I’m actually almost angry that it’s time to leave.

At the same time though it feels like I’ve been here forever, so quickly and easily did I manage to fall into the routine of training, acclimatise to the oft-stifling heat and humidity and grow to love the trainers and trainees at the camp. There seems such a natural rhythm to it now – wake up, warm up, training, chill out, eat, invent new swimming-based games to pass the time, warm up again, train, cool down, eat, read, watch movies, sleep. Repeat until visa expires. My nose anticipates the smells of cooking every morning and afternoon, my ears perfectly attuned to the rhythmic thwacks and grunts of day-long training.

Okay, so my body may never be the same again – my middle-finger knuckles on each hand are ground to a fine powder and my injured shoulder barely exists any more – but other than that I’d happily stay here a year. I’m already noticing a difference in my build so god knows what a few months in this place would do.

It’s going to be tricky to adjust to ‘normal’ food again as well. I’m so used to curry for breakfast and dinner that the idea of cereal, pizza and the like just seems so bland that I’ll be forced to take a couple of Thai cookery lessons. Between-meal snacks here take some beating too – just nip down along the road within five minutes, no matter where you are, you’ll find a stand selling all manner of skewered meats for about 60p per skewer – a hell of a lot cheaper than any protein shake! Annoyingly I still can’t track down my favourite condiment ever, a variant of nam pla used in the kitchen here which packs a hell of a kick but seems to be absent from the shelves of every supermarket and corner shop in the area. I’ve tried asking the cooks where to buy it but the just smile at me – I think it’s a family recipe not to be divulged to farangs, more’s the pity.

On top of everything else I’ll really miss my trainer. It seems everyone else here is actually pretty jealous I ended up with him; his passion for the sport is incredible, his attention to detail incredible and his sense of humour – as difficult as it may be to synch with initially – is better than any energy drink when I’m ready to throw in the towel after a heavy session. It’s a shame there’s such a language barrier – my Thai is pretty damn weak and he didn’t do much school so his English is almost as bad – but we’ve developed enough of a pidgin/sign language to understand what we need to. He still insists on pronouncing ‘toes’ as ‘twos’ but I’ll let that slide

Ach well, enough moping.

Time to look forward to five or six weeks back in Scotia before leaving for the long term. A month or so of kicking back with mates, indulging in slight debauchery, even more training (albeit of an inevitably lower standard) and fixing up a new flat in preparation for finding some tenants. Actually that last one is slightly daunting/terrifying but I’m sure it’ll all come good.

Inevitable Panicky Footnote – Now I just have to pray that the ol’ H1N1 problem here doesn’t get so bad (24 dead, WHO level 2 epidemic so far) that the government decides to close all language schools for the duration, thus rendering me jobless in a foreign country. The possibility is already being mentioned in several papers…

Who was in my room last night?

Since Marty hit the road I’ve been fortunate enough to have this 3-bed dorm to myself, plenty of peace and quiet, a welcome touch of privacy and, just as importantly, some sense of security. Not sharing with strangers means I can relax a bit, I don’t have to be quite as overly protective of my valuables and I don’t have to worry about other people leaving the door unlocked while there’s no-one around.

Well, almost…

Yesterday I got back to the room after using the internet in reception (this lack of wireless access is seriously getting to me) and found that it was locked. Well obviously it was locked in the sense that I had to use my key, I always lock the door behind me – and yes, like at home, I’ve locked myself out on a couple of occasions I mean the catch was on the door, it had been locked from inside and there is no way on earth you can accidentally flick that catch on your way out.

My first thought was that I had new room-mates and he/she/they were having a shower or otherwise engaged in a manner incompatible with sudden unannounced interruptions. I managed to open the door a couple of inches and a quick glance around put paid to that idea. How curious…

Luckily there’s another way in; behind the dorms is a long, narrow corridor used by the laundry for hanging out wet clothes. Each dorm has a window opening onto this dank passageway, pointless except for purposes of letting air circulate through the room. The windows consist of two parts: one sliding panel containing the glass, which is lockable; and another containing mosquito netting, which is not. I, like most of the rest of the camp, tend to leave the glass section open and keep the mozzies at bay with the netting – a decision which sacrifices a little security for a great deal of comfort.

Anyway, I walked around the back and counted down the identical windows on the back wall until I reached the one which should have been mine. And which was completely open, both panels.

Not good.

I gingerly clambered in – these window-frames aren’t the strongest or highest quality in the world – and took inventory of my belongings. Now maybe leaving that window unlocked isn’t the smartest thing in the world but at least I had the sense to keep anything valuable – camera, netbook, hard drive, phone, passport, etc – secured in my locker, also using my own padlock rather than the flimsy piece of crap you’re supplied with on arrival (note to anyone planning on staying here – all the padlocks use the same keys so anyone else can open yours, you have been warned).

Thankfully everything was in order. The only sign of intrusion was my tupperware first aid kit, which had definitely been shut earlier, lying open on the floor of the cupboard but it hadn’t been ransacked. The most potent supplies I have are 400mg tabs of the local generic ibuprofen, hardly a hot black market item.

So I got off lightly – home invaded, privacy breached, sanctity despoiled but nothing taken, nothing broken and no-one shat on my bed. I’m not bothering to report it to the local cops – the constabulary around here aren’t too well versed in the Queen’s own English seeing as we aren’t in touristville and I can’t be bothered with a two-hour sign language session to explain that someone had failed to steal anything from me. I’m tired enough from training and just don’t have the energy for the mental gymnastics required to describe a crime scene without a common language.

Still, I’m going to have a word with management. Fair enough you need to take responsibility for your belongings, but surely locks for the mozzie screens can’t cost too much. Or a single CCTV camera (even, in fact preferably, just a dummy one for purposes of deterrence) covering the alleyway. From the owners’ point of view any small expense should be preferable to having your customers telling their friends “Yeah, training’s great but remember to bring your own private security firm”.

My new shorts!

They’re ready at last and I’ll be kicking ass in them in round about five hours from now. There was a slight language problem initially (god knows how, seeing as I wrote out what I wanted them to print) but it’s all fixed and ready to rock and/or roll…

Front...

...and back

Pretty cool, eh? Bit too political? Aah, fuck it. Fascists are cunts, they can fuck off…

Cowrin’ timrous beasties

Okay, so it’s not all sweetness and light in this country. Yesterday a few of us took a trip to Chatuchak market in Bangkok, a sprawling, 35-acre covered bazaar selling everything from knock-off 501s to seven foot tall Predators made from scrap metal. A true shopper’s paradise, roughly delineated into areas covering clothing, food, plastic food, mantelpiece tat and more, you can find anything you’ll ever need – provided you’re willing and physically able to trawl through the miles of dark, humid alleyways. Just make sure to buy that perfect piece of tat as soon as you find it, otherwise I can guarantee that the stall will fade into the mist as soon as you turn your back, Brigadoon-style, never to be seen again.

This cornucopia of consumerism hides a dark side though, dark at least to my western sensibilities. I love cute little beasties – puppies, kittens, squirrels, rabbits, hedgehogs – and despite my current manly-man pursuits I still can’t resist reaching out to stroke the little fellas, especially if there’s a giant furry pile of them in a basket. With that in mind I was in seventh heaven when we reached the pet area of the market, suddenly surrounded by countless kitties, rottweiller and husky pups, even baby squirrels on leads.

So much fluff! So little time! Aww, that one’s licking my hand! Check out that wee fuzzball climbing over his brothers and sisters!

Sweetness abounds..

But then you start to notice things, sinister things like the little one at the back barely moving except for his shivers. Or the tousled one in the corner whose fur is clearly covered in it’s own mess. And the fact that a lot of the mewls and yelps aren’t typical youthful pet enthusiasm, more like someone whining “it’s hot and crowded and scary and I don’t even have any water”. And there’s the odd fact that so many stall owners forbid taking any photos – because you’re somehow stealing a little cuteness from their souls or because they realise how bad it looks to farang eyes?

Suddenly the pet section isn’t so much fun.

Suddenly I have to leave.

The thing is, there’s nothing you can do about it. Try to scold the stall owners or even just make them more aware of and sensitive to the suffering of their infant charges? I can barely ask for a cup of coffee in the local lingo, let alone deliver an animal rights manifesto. Buy them all and give them a better home? I’d love to be in that position but I’d need a house the size of Edinburgh Castle and similarly spacious luggage…

So all you can do is keep walking, head to the next section and tut-tut with your mates in an oh-so-righteous fashion. I’ll be a guest in this country for a while so I’m going to have to learn to tolerate things like this, even if I’ll never approve of them and never accept any wishy-washy cultural relativism that tries to tell me that such cruelty is okay cause it’s ‘just their way’. It’s going to depress the shit out of me whenever I encounter it but at least there are a hell of a lot more good things about the country than bad (or that’s the gist so far anyway).