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shoke
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From The International Herald Tribune, by their Hong Kong correspondent Thomas Crampton
It seemed like such a good idea at the time. The prospect of staying as a guest in a real Thai house, speaking nothing but Thai in a Thai village was too much to pass up.
The guard of the building where I lived in Bangkok, Khun Phon, spoke enough English should any serious confusion arise between myself and his extended family. It was only for a long weekend. What could possibly go wrong?
Leaving on an afternoon bus from central Bangkok to Phon's village about about 320 kilometers, or 200 miles, to the north, I watched the traffic jams and concrete buildings slowly give way to rice paddies and open spaces. Each time the bus stopped for more than five minutes, ladies clambered on board to sell packages of food wrapped in banana leaves or roast chicken on wooden sticks. On hurried stops, they made it no more than a few seats down the cabin of the bus before the luggage doors slammed down and the driver revved the engine.
Hurtling down smaller roads with Thai music blasting on the loudspeaker, I began to feel fully immersed in a foreign culture. Like a deep sea diver comfortable only when the depth gauge reaches the red, I relaxed more the farther I moved from familiar points of reference.
Several hours later when the bus pulled into Phon's village, no more than a row of low wooden houses along a dusty road, we received a hero's welcome.
The questions came quickly, an Asian inquisition of sorts in which Thais ask strangers many questions that a Westerner may find excessively intrusive: How much do you earn? Are you married? Do you like spicy food? How old are you?
Age inquiries have a practical purpose. The way in which Thais address an older person is different from how they speak to a younger person.
The question that kept coming back to me, however, was: "Would you like a bath?"
First Phon's mother-in-law asked, but I declined. Then his wife asked, and I said, "No, thank you." Next his daughter asked and then Phon himself asked.
I finally relented.
In retrospect, I should have thought more carefully about the economics of such a household. Or I should have considered more carefully the plumbing implications of living in a remote rural village.
Instead, I entered the bathroom, saw the tiled tub filled with water and jumped right in. Thai people are extremely hospitable, so it seemed hardly surprising that Phon had filled the tub with water.
The lack of a hot water tap did not concern me. When traveling in the countryside in warm weather, I had learned that a quick cold bath or shower makes sleep possible without air conditioning. (Before the existence of air conditioning, "Have you bathed yet?" was a common greeting in Bangkok.)
But since the family's enthusiasm for bathing got me wet in the mid-afternoon, I decided to do a proper scrub down. Standing in the tub, I lathered up with foamy soap, scrubbed my hair with shampoo and even squeezed the last drops of hair conditioner from a packet I had stolen from a hotel.
Stepping out of the tub to shave, I feared that my grasp on reality was beginning to unravel. First I noticed the lack of a sink in the room. Then, I couldn't find a plug on the bottom of the tub.
Not sure of what to do, I used one of the plastic bowls sitting along the edge of the tub to skim away the foam and stray hairs for a better look.
On closer examination, the tub did have a rather odd shape. Instead of something comfortable to lie down in, it was long, thin and trough-like. The nearest drain appeared to be at the far end of the bathroom floor.
After scooping about half of the dirty gray water down the floor drain, I concluded that the techniques for emptying bathtubs must differ in Asia. Perhaps they used some siphon method of drainage that was best left for members of the family to undertake once I had vacated the bathroom.
Drying myself off, I dressed and joined the family for the evening's activities: a village festival.
While Phon's family had been friendly the entire time, their attentiveness reached absurd new heights at the banquet. I would not say they treated me like an idiot, but they did try to explain absolutely everything to me. Do not eat chicken bones. Do not eat the wooden stick skewering the pork strips. Do drink more whiskey.
In addition to highlighting traditional Thai music, the festival included an elaborate children's beauty contest in which Phon's daughter took part. Each child caked on heavy makeup, wore a custom-designed dress and moved across the stage using traditional Thai dance movements.
Walking home afterwards, we all concluded - even though the judging panel did not - that Phon's daughter was clearly the most beautiful contestant.
I descended the next morning with towel and toothbrush in hand, but Phon's daughter inexplicably led me toward the neighbors' house.
Stepping into an almost identical wooden house, I saw Phon, his wife and the neighbors all gathered in the bathroom. I thought something was wrong, but Phon's mother-in-law gave a broad toothless grin and Phon began speaking in the same kind manner he had used to explain how to eat chicken at the banquet the night before.
Leaning over a bathtub identical to the one in his own home, Phon made a slow, exaggerated motion of scooping up the bath water in a plastic bowl, rinsing his mouth and spitting into the drain on the floor.
Despite the thick fog of a Mekong whiskey hangover, horror and embarrassment welled up as I learned Lesson No. 1 of life in rural Thailand:
Do not bathe in the week's supply of drinking water.
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Bangkok Girls : Meet Attractive Thai Girls
Posted on: 3:41 am on Oct. 7, 2003
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ThaidUp
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I guess there will be a sequel coming when he takes a shit and discovers no TP and only the bowl of water.
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Bangkok Women : Meet Sensual Bangkok Women
Posted on: 3:50 am on Oct. 7, 2003
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Hermanolobo
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Or the Bath will cost you plenty Baht
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Thai Girls : Meet Sexy Thai Girls
Posted on: 4:46 am on Oct. 7, 2003
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