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Great Writing - Home > Non-Fiction > Sunshine & Showers, 14
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Non-Fiction
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| Sunshine & Showers, 14 | |
| By Arandom | ||||
| 29 November 2006 | ||||
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Skipped one entry to go to another where a bit happens. 14. 16:50 - 15/10/05 Heath and I were joined for dinner last night by Miriam and Scottish Neil, who is staying the weekend in Bangkok then departing on another tour which marries mine when our groups head south to the islands. Disappointingly for me, Heath wasn’t up for a few beers on this, his last night, because he was tired again - as he often seems to be after a day not doing much. We had dinner at a streetside bar on Kao San Road, then mooched the numerous CD and DVD stalls awhile, enduring the ever persistent Blunt and Johnson. Miriam left first, to head back to the hotel for the last time, then to the airport for home. The goodbyes were casual “see you later”s. No reality television style artificial hugs. The remaining trio of us headed for an Irish Bar on the road for one final pint. And, dismally enough, it really was one final pint. One final pint didn’t lead to another final one, and another. Heath didn’t even have one final pint in case it ignited his thirst. So, just one drink on, they were both ready for the hotel, but I’d developed a taste. I knew I’d be bored back at my new hotel. I didn’t really want to sleep already, or watch bad television, or fail to be gripped by my book. Said my fond farewells, manly hugs and slaps with Heath on the road. A strange, lingering feeling; best mates for ten days living in each other’s pockets, then strangers forever after. He’s warned that he’s a poor emailer, which I can well imagine. In all probability we won’t see each other again. So ends a short, intense, yet contrived relationship. As we parted, Neil and I arranged to meet for dinner tonight. I’m not sure if he’ll show or not. With a taste for more, another remarkable evening gradually ensued. I walked up the road as my travel companions walked down it. Considering the bars, I plumped for the third I passed, took a street-facing seat outside and browsed a menu. I ordered a whisky and was bought a half bottle and two glasses, one with ice-stacked high, one empty. Possibly seeing my wealth of whisky as well as my solitary state, I was invited onto a neighbouring table. Three more separate, extreme characters would have been difficult to find. Almost surreal in their extremities, they could have stepped out of a film set still in character. I’m unsure if any of them had met before that evening, this is how they lined up: 1) a highly drunk, zany, loud, shameless Australian guy in his late 30s, who had invited me over; 2) possibly the former’s companion, a terrifyingly starey eyed, silent kiwi who put me in mind of Robert Carlyle’s character in the famed Beach film, which opens on this road; 3) a professional orchestra conductor and violinist currently working for the Bangkok national orchestra - who definitely didn’t know either of the other two and was waiting for friends. He was a slightly oafish, truly British toff ex-pat in his early forties. I spoke mostly with the latter character, at length about music: the place of pop and classical music in today’s western society. He gave me his card, and the impression that he had appreciated our conversation, an improvement on our other company, then slipped away after taking a call from his friends. This left me with the other two, crazed in different ways. The Australian decided we should head for a club, which I think was going to be of the dodgy variety. I tagged along at the rear for a short distance before deciding, actually no, and swerving away without a word. I doubled back to a clubby looking bar we had just passed at the top of the road. Suddenly nervous of the half-full bottle of whisky in my pocket as I was being frisked on entry by a doorman, I was amazed he didn’t appear to notice or mind, despite feeling the obvious glass bulge. He waved me in. Not hugely different to any darkly lit bar-cum-club at home, populated too, as you might expect in this district, by many western youngsters and an equal scattering of locals. The televisions showed the same weekend’s English Premiership football that had been replaying on televisions everywhere for a couple of weeks, due to the break for international fixtures. I got a beer and perched near a screen, half watching the fortnight old football I’d first seen before leaving home, half watching the people mill about, none as outrageously loud, drunken and badly behaved as you might expect back home. I’d shared a sentence or two with a small group of English guys before another small group of local girls joined us. They were excitable, flirty, and the one who instantly tagged onto me, exceptionally short. I think that we first kissed in there, after her eyes had seductively demanded it of me. Then they dragged us to another bar - me and one of the English guys who had been picked up by a more sensual looking girl. He had seemed a decent lad. The girls ordered food in this bar, and I began flirting mildly with the other, taller girl, whose English guy had momentarily disappeared. The flirting grew less mild, and I began ambitiously wondering if maybe, please God, I could actually take both of the girls back. However, I was quickly reprimanded after jokily taking her hand, with a light slap on the arm and an icy glare by my shorty, Loh. She soon forgave my discrepancy, and clung to me like a limpet as we walked back to my hotel. I felt aggrieved to feel so seedy collecting my room key from reception and forking out another 500 Baht for the extra occupant in my room, but I still did. In my haste to disrobe my three-quarter length trousers, I allowed them to drop to the floor unguided. Forgetting the whisky bottle. It promptly smashed, soaking my trousers in whisky and shattering glass in a small radius. Loh helped to collect the larger shards and pile them into the small plastic bin. I made a mental note to write a warning note for the cleaners. Once freshened, I discovered the feeling of her naturally velvet-like, amazing skin on mine, and a beautifully smooth behind - as most well-shaped Thais tend to sport. She had nipples like maltesers. Only once I saw closely did I believe she was the 25-years old she said. Her hands and feet betrayed this, if her height didn’t. When I told her my age, she then curiously said she was 26, wanting to be older than me, wanting to be in control. Which turned out to be misguiding. The act was more functional and mechanical than I had hoped. She admirably mentioned protection before I had reached for it, not that I wouldn’t have. Just before sleep, I had a thought for her sensual, more sexy friend; how different would she have been. We messed around in bed for the majority of the morning, before I subtly began forcing the issue of her departure. There was an awkward moment after one last long kiss, before she stepped out of the doorway. A pause as she looked at me in front of my hotel door. She’d tied her hair up after showering this morning. It dramatically affected her appearance, making her look like a cleaner or a maid. She was still looking at me in an odd, loaded way. Oh, bugger. Did she think I had fallen hopelessly in love with her? That I wanted to take her home with me? Was this what she was hoping? Was this her dream? Her English wasn’t great, we never had a fully developed conversation, relying on phrases from my book, and a few English ones that she knew. As well as the appropriate basic questions and observations: cold, hot, wet, dry, soft, hard, sharp, smooth. Neither was my Thai exactly developed beyond hello and thank-you. Our meeting and exchange had simply been just what it had been. Fun. I smiled sadly, kissed her again, briefer but softer, in a way I hoped would convey no, sorry, better luck next time, look after yourself. She smiled too, perhaps understanding, perhaps not, then left. A small, hungover brunch was followed by a walk along the riverside, then by the Grand Palace, which my next tour is to include a tour of. After walking a fair distance, I decided to hire a taxi to take me further into the commercial city-centre. The traffic was torturous and my non-English speaking driver persisted in speaking to me in spurts. I nodded and smiled a lot, frantically leafing through my small phrasebook for anything appropriate but rhetorical. ‘This is fun!’ I settled on, hoping he would understand the irony. He understood after a second repetition, and laughed heartily. I alighted just before of the central district, my patience with the traffic expired. Walking aimlessly in blistering heat, I passed a Tescos before stumbling across Jim Thompson’s House, which Marlo had suggested we check out if we had time. Jim was an American who had emigrated here several decades ago and was responsible for the evolution of Thai architecture, incorporating styles from around the world, before he mysteriously disappeared during a hiking holiday in 1967. The house was remarkably well restored and uniquely crafted in many ways, dressed with quirky, far-reaching decorations. I joined a small English speaking tour, and developed a habit of accidentally obscuring whatever item the guide was about to describe to us, requiring her to repeatedly shepherd me out of the way. This caused much frivolous jest. Stomach still feeling hungover after only on a small, dry club sandwich at lunchtime, I’ve just had an Omlette in a small cafe off a deafening main road. It’s the least attractive area of Bangkok I’ve been to - although there are many similar. Banks and banks of greyness, concrete, traffic and smog. Eating indoors for a change. The staff have been wonderfully friendly but I should leave soon because writing this has taken about three times as long as it took to eat my food.
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