Temporarily Thairish was sitting sandy-arsed on Hat Rin beach recently, enjoying a late night drink and some good sounds and conversation, when a serious fight suddenly broke out just a few feet away.
Actually it was more of a beating than a fight. Three angry locals, all obviously skilled in the art of Muay Thai boxing, were beating the living shit out of a drunken farang(westerner). Despite being bigger than all of them, the guy didn’t stand a chance.
Not that he was standing for very long. Having slapped him repeatedly around the head, they then knocked him to the ground, pulled down his shorts, and began to kick him on the bare arse. Their kicks looked marginally less painful than the slaps he’d already received to his head, but it was still the kind of public humiliation that would mentally scar any man for the rest of his days – especially given that there were a number of attractive women watching. Most seemed horrified, but one silly bitch pointed and laughed.
It was one of those horrible challenges that life sometimes throws at you. Game on! Man or mouse? Decide right now! I struggled with my conscience and reluctantly began getting up, not really sure what to do, but feeling I should be doing something. My pulse was suddenly racing. It wasn’t my fight but, at the same time, it was three against one, and they were really hurting the guy – physically and psychologically. If it was happening to me, I’d appreciate a little help. I didn’t want to jump in and throw a punch. I just wanted them to stop.
Thankfully, one of my companions, who’d had a better view of the preceding events, immediately pulled me straight back down again. “Stay out of it!” he warned, shaking his head. “The guy’s a fucking fool!”
“What did he do?” I asked, guiltily relieved to hear that there might be a good excuse to avoid getting involved. They’d pretty much finished their work by then anyway. The farang was in serious shock, crouched on all fours on the sand with his shorts still around his knees and a dazed expression on his face. Sensing a Kodak moment, the laughing girl took a picture on her digital camera. Hopefully, somebody stole it from her before her night was over (Hat Rin is like the Bermuda Triangle for digital cameras – and all other valuables).
“He went over and took a piss against the front of the bar counter,” my friend explained (many of the bars on Hat Rin are actually on the beach). “I saw the whole thing. Fucking unbelievable! He totally deserved what they gave him.”
“He did what?”
“He walked over, ordered a drink, and then took his dick out and pissed right up against the bar.”
“You’re right,” I said, disgustedly. “That’s really taking the piss. Or rather, giving it.”
Humiliating as it was, the guy certainly deserved what he got. In fact, this island being as dangerous as it can be, he was lucky not to have been taken off and shot. Had he been capable of speech, I might have gone over and asked him would he have done the same thing in his home country, wherever that may have been (he was a Caucasian twenty-something). I don’t know of any bar in the world where urinating against the counter wouldn’t earn you exactly the same kind of rough treatment from the staff.
But that’s the thing. A lot of people come over here under the foolishly mistaken impression that the place is a lot more chilled than it is. They think they can get away with anything. They’re wrong. Although Thailand is a predominantly Buddhist country, and Buddhists are renowned for their calm and peaceful approach to life, the Thais brook no bullshit. They might smile like it’s going out of style, but if you piss a Thai off, there’ll usually be a comeback. If you seriously piss a Thai off, there’ll probably be a serious comeback. Especially on Koh Pha Ngan.
This island is a truly beautiful place, but the longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve become aware of just how corrupt and mafia-controlled everything is. I’m not just talking mafia of the Tony Soprano variety, though that most certainly exists. It’s an open secret that drugs, prostitution, loan-sharking, gambling and all the other profitable vices are fairly widely practised here. (Why do you think I’m here?) There’s a lot of crazy shit going on just beneath the surface of things. Apparently, there have been two fatal shootings in the last three weeks outside the Ban Tai Seven-Eleven. But these incidents rarely make the papers. They’re considered bad for tourism and, if at all possible, are usually hushed up.
The police are a kind of mafia over here as well. You really don’t want to be involved with them, under almost any circumstances. If you’ve been robbed, raped or ripped-off, you can usually forget about anything serious being done about it. Chances are that the culprit will be hit for a bribe rather than arrested and charged (after all, the victim will usually be soon leaving the country). If you’re the one being arrested, say goodbye to your money.
Naturally, there are good and honest cops. But these are the exceptions rather than the rule. According to all the national opinion polls, the vast majority of Thais think that their police service (not to mention their political system) is absolutely rotten with corruption.
Last month, three suspected young drug dealers were found hanging from their shoelaces in a police cell in Lampang. The fourth cellmate – an associate of theirs - claims to have slept through the incident. For some mysterious reason, the station’s security cameras were pointed the wrong way that night and the cop who was supposed to have checked the cell on an hourly basis had failed to do so. An official investigation concluded that these three young men had all simultaneously decided to commit suicide, rather than face drug charges. The unofficial word is that these were extra-judicial executions – a widespread practise over here.
Obviously enough, if you act respectfully to everybody you meet in Thailand, avoid getting involved in anything illegal, don’t piss up against any bars, and stay well the fuck away from the Lampang police station, then you probably won’t have any problems. This is a very beautiful country, well worth visiting, and its endemic corruption problems are hardly unique.
After all, did I not read that Charlie Haughey recently received a standing ovation at the Fianna Fail Ard Fheis? And let’s not mention Donegal. . .
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Temporarily Thairish recently met a Dubliner named Ger, who came out here for a holiday two years ago, never left, and is now building himself and his Thai girlfriend a house in the jungle. Always a mine of useful local information, the other day he warned me to never ever stop to help at a traffic accident. “Why not?” I asked.
“Because if you get involved in any way – even if you only arrived on the scene afterwards – then the Thais will expect you to pay for it,” he explained.
“That’s ridiculous!” I laughed.
“Yeah, but it’s what happens,” he said. “In Europe I’d obviously stop to help, but if you see a crash over here just get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Because if you’re there when the cops arrive, then you’re ‘involved’. And if you’re involved, it’ll always wind up somehow costing you money. It’s happened to quite a few people.”
Actually, I’d well believe it. Farangs have almost no legal rights in Thailand (even if you’ve been living here for years, have a Thai spouse, and children that have been born here, you’ll still have to do regular visa runs out of the country). And when it comes to money matters, you’ll almost always lose. Especially with traffic accidents.
Of course, it’d be far worse if you’re actually involved in the accident. Blame doesn’t come into it. It won’t matter that the Thai driver was blind drunk on Mekong, stoned senseless on weed, yakking into his mobile and receiving a blow-job from a whore when the crash happened. The farang will always wind up paying. If you’re hit by a drunk driver, you’ll pay for the damage your cranium did while it was smashing against the car’s bumper. If you die, they’ll send the bill to your family. I’m only half joking.
Behind all the smiles and friendliness, there’s a certain resentful Thai attitude towards farangs that’s not universal, but reasonably widespread in the more touristy areas. To their eyes, if you’re visiting their country then you’re rich - and that’s that. They’re usually right too. Even the young student backpackers on the meanest of budgets are wealthy compared to the average Thai worker (who could save all their life and still never be able to afford an airfare out of the country).
The wages over here are pitiful, to pay the least. The Labour Ministry recently announced that the daily minimum wage will be increased by a measly one to six baht (two to twelve cents) on January 1st, 2006. It currently stands at 181 baht per day, which wouldn’t buy you a pint of Guinness in Dublin. Of course, not every employer pays the minimum wage. Many pay far less.
Given the huge discrepancy between Southeast Asian pay rates and Western ones, the Thais feel justified in overcharging for certain services. If you go somewhere like the cinema or the hairdressers then it’s standard practise that there’ll be one price for natives and a separate, much higher, price for farangs. Perhaps that’s a fair enough arrangement, but they can take ‘rip-off Thailand’ a little too far sometimes.
I went into a newsagents in Chaloklum recently to buy the Bangkok Post. The girl behind the counter asked me for 25 baht. When I pointed out that the paper only costs 20 baht (and it says so on the front page), she shrugged unapologetically. “Farang price,” she explained. It was only five baht, but I’ll never go there again. I’ve been living here a while now, and I’m sick of being financially punished for the colour of my skin.
Of course, they’re not all like that. Many Thais genuinely like the farangs who’ve invaded their country in recent years. But even more of them prefer your money. Blatantly. Often much too blatantly.
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The situation in the troubled deep-South hit a serious new low on October 16th and tensions have been running high ever since. In a deliberately provocative act designed to further inflame religious tensions, suspected Muslim separatists attacked a Pattani temple and killed a monk and two temple boys, before setting fire to the place.
The temple was Wat Phromprasit at tambon Ban Nok of Panare district, which is a fairly remote area. Early in the day, fifteen armed men stormed the temple and went on a murderous ten minute rampage. They first shot dead the two temple boys – 15-year-old Sathaporn Suwanrat and 17-year-old Harnnarong Kham-on. Having killed them, they then set their bodies alight.
The killers then moved on to the monks’ living quarters, where they bludgeoned and hacked 76-year-old Phra Phisu Kaew Phanjaphet to death. Apparently, he was almost decapitated. They also set fire to his body. Fortunately, everybody else escaped, but, before they left, the murderers vandalised, desecrated and burnt other areas of the temple.
Later on that same day, five more people – including two soldiers – were shot dead in Yala and Narathiwat. The King and Queen, Prime Minister Thaksin and several leading monks have publicly appealed for a calm Buddhist response to these atrocities. Soldiers have now been despatched to guard all temples in remote areas. There have been no further attacks on temples since, but the violence continues unabated elsewhere.
‘Troubled’ doesn’t really describe the deep South situation any more. There’s basically a war going on down there, with no end in sight, and further atrocities undoubtedly ahead.
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Looking back over what I’ve written, I can see that I’ve been a bit negative this week. Blame the weather. Monsoon season has started in earnest and it’s been raining geckos and lizards for days – broken up with all-too-brief periods of bright sunshine. When I finish my morning shower, I no longer bother drying myself off before getting dressed. Ten seconds out the door and my clothes are soaked through anyway. It’s that kind of wet. I’ve never seen rain like it before – and I grew up in the west of Ireland.
There’ve been a few big storms here since I arrived last February, but nothing like the recent ones. They’re fucking spectacular! Not to mention scary. Thunder crashing like the end of the world, lightning as bright as the sun, rain (and coconuts) hammering down, winds and waves strong enough to knock trees over. Then they really get blowing.
I woke up after a storm last week to find a river running out from the jungle and straight through the beach – literally cutting the Double Duke off from everywhere else. It was about six metres wide and one metre deep, and the deep fissures in the sand surrounding it looked like the aftermath of an earthquake. The stone steps leading up to the My Way Bar further up the beach were totally destroyed – just smashed to smithereens by an angry sea. On the other side of the island, entire roads and bridges have been swept away by water running down from the mountains. Apparently it’ll be like this, on and off, until the end of November. Might be a good time for Temporarily Thairish to hit the road and temporarily relocate.
Speaking of which, when I reach the end of this paragraph, I’ve got to immediately dash to the Burmese border on yet another interminable visa run. The first stage of my government-enforced journey involves a six-hour boat trip through the Gulf of Thailand. From the looks of the sky, there’s another big tropical storm brewing, but I’ve been assured the ferry is still leaving.
Assured, but most definitely not reassured.