by Alex Gunn
I had actually been to this particular shop many times during the past year to buy fireworks and lanterns for the Loy Kratong lantern festival and firecrackers for New Year. I had also brought a big bag of tiny candles to make the garden look spooky for Halloween. I was known by the two ladies who ran it, as I was probably their only foreign customer. They smiled at me and my wife.
“Pan-rai-yaa” they said to me, (“wife” in Thai).
“Kap, kap, kap” I said quickly, which doesn’t strictly speaking mean “yes” (which is “chai”) but is often used just as a polite positive, when spoken by a man. There is no translation in English so I like to use it. It’s really the only word in Thai that I use, and it will get you a very long way, as you will discover.
“Ohhh-ooo-waaaa,” they said.
I have been wondering how to spell this particular Thai noise that is often made by Thai people, especially women, as a sort of exclamation, a sort of “oh I see” or “you don’t say” with a little bit of added wonderment. Musically, the noise is a perfect triad, it starts on a major third, rises to a fifth in the middle and then sinks satisfactorily to the tonic. It’s a very musical language, which may go some way to explain why I’m so rubbish at it.
Until this time I expect the ladies in the shop assumed that I was just one of the many men who come to Thailand to find love, and had already married a Thai wife who was perhaps too lazy to shop for firecrackers and candles herself. The arrival of a very un-Thai wife was causing some interest. They ran through the usual list of explanations that might explain what we were doing poking around the back of a far flung market in Northern Thailand.
“Missionary?” they said, although they didn’t say it like this, they actually said “mish-en-arr-ree” with a falling tone at the end.
“Mai,” I responded, which means “no” (although I actually said “Mai kap” the “kap” bit making it more polite, like a friendly full stop which is spoken).
They carried on with their questioning.
“Chist-t-ian?” They said again, perhaps thinking that I was just a particularly thick missionary who didn’t quite understand the question.
“Mai kap” I said again.
“OOOhhhh-oooo-Wwwaaaaaa,” they both chorused again, like a primary school singing lesson.
There was a pause. They were clearly thinking hard about the few remaining plausible reasons which would explain why we were in their little monk supply shop.
“Teach-eer?” one of the ladies said.
“Mai kap,” I said, which isn’t strictly true but lacked the words, and the will, for the long boring explanation.
Then the other one said in an inspired moment, cobbling together all the possibilities known to Thai kind.
“Christ-t-ian Mish-n-arr-ree Teach-eer?”
We all laughed.
I wondered what the Thai is for “we just thought that it was a good idea at the time.” Even in English I have trouble explaining why we are here, let alone in Thai. The ladies looked worried and I began to feel out of place. My wife leant forward towards them, tapped the side of her head, pointed at me and said “Ting Tong” which generally means “crazy.” We all laughed. It’s a plausible explanation which will do for now.
We looked at the random collection of stuff at the front of the shop. There was all manner of odd and unexpected items.
Just to keep you up to date with the latest gift items this season for the monk about town we have in fifth place, the Electronic Rice Steamer. There were many models in different shapes and sizes. In fourth place, Electric Fans, followed closely by saffron coloured scarf and mitten sets for those chilly mornings when you’re stuck up in some picturesque but freezing cold mountain temple in mid winter, about to embark on a wholesome, but numbingly cold four hour meditation session on an icy, tiled floor. In second place, ornamental food collection bowls to collect all the early morning offerings from your indebted local community. But this year, coming in at number one, clearly the top gift to satisfy all occasions; an orange bucket stuffed full of useful miscellaneous items essential for general day to day monking. The whole bucket is gift wrapped in transparent orange cellophane.
Items in the bucket include toiletries, rolls of toilet paper, toothpaste, biscuits, tissues, fruit juice (inc Sunny Delight), plastic flip flops, drinking chocolate powder, UHT soya milk (I guess for a monk you don’t like very much), incense sticks, cereal bars and instant coffee.
Interesting as these gifts might be, we had more serious things on our minds. As new owners of a large spirit house we were taking our responsibilities seriously. We needed new shrine figures.
I guarantee that any art student completing their final year would gain a first class degree simply by buying any random selection of Thai shrine figures and arranging them in any random fashion anywhere, in any art college in the world, except I guess in Thailand where they would think you were nuts or super religious and possibly both. These little figures are fantastic and I have developed an unhealthy fascination with them.
There are rows and rows of tiny, and not so tiny, porcelain and plastic models of almost every animal you can think of, especially cockerels, tigers, lions, horses, buffalo, giraffe, turtles, monkeys, elephants and zebras. The range of small model people are also fascinating; young men with hand painted moustaches, old ladies bent in two with walking sticks, stylized female figures covered gaudily with glitter and sequins, babies, children and couples holding hands. There is also of course a massive range of plastic gods; Buddha in many different appearances, tons of Ganeshes, a few Shivas, a load of Brahmas and a smattering of Lakshmis. Obviously local people like to curry favour with a nice range, just in case…you can’t take anything for granted in the god business.
There’s also some rather mundane but important shrine items, such as miniature cup sets in which to place offerings, and bowls and jugs for fresh water.
There are also some special items on the top shelf for the serious shrine enthusiast; a metre long reclining Buddha in a glass case, resplendent in gold leaf, a metre high Bo Tree made from gold wire and semi precious stones and a range of much larger ornamental Buddha figures.
After much whispering to each other we decided to play it safe and bought an old lady and man set in a traditional kneeling position made from bright purple plastic and liberally covered with sequins and gold, silver and purple glitter. I thought that these could represent our older relatives who have passed on. I also wanted to get some animals, so bought some small china figures of cockerels, elephants and a small green turtle. I also bought china figures of a very meek looking younger couple holding hands and a bunch of yellow garlands.
Armed with a brand new range of shrine-wear we zoomed back to adorn our family Spirit House shrine.
I put the elderly plastic purple couple next to the lady with the sideways head. I arranged the animals in a line, and in front of them placed the young couple holding hands and finished it all off by hanging the garlands from each corner.
I was a little worried what our friend and self appointed guardian angel, Khun Sonthaya, would think. He was introduced to us during our first week here as someone who might be able to help with our business, as he was born in Thailand, but grew up in America, so was fluent in both languages (and cultures). I still remember his incredulity that we had given up good lives in England to come here, to his home town, which seemingly offered us nothing.
“You must be careful,” he said to me on that fateful first day. “Many people will take you to the laundry,” he said gravely.
Since that first day he has helped us with everything from running the business to teaching me how to fry dried fish. Without his help we would not be here. He refers to me and my wife as his brother and sister, he treats our children like his own and we love him a great deal. He is the kindest and most thoughtful man in Chiang Mai and I really didn’t want to cause offence.
He stood in front of our new Spirit House and nodded and smiled approvingly.
After a while he said “would you like some monks to come and bless it? ” I was temped but thought we might be in way over our spiritual heads.
“It might be a bit much,” I offered cautiously. He looked at me and nodded.
“Well,” he continued, “you will definitely need a proper jug to pour water into the cup.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about.
The next morning Khun Sonthaya and his wife Khun Noi brought us a beautiful earthen ware jar and a little porcelain cup set.
Khun Noi saluted in a traditional Thai way and knelt before the shrine and placed the jug and little cup set on the table in front of the shrine. She poured water from the jug into the cups as an offering to the spirits while the cats looked on from the shade of the Tamarind tree and breathed a big stale gecko head yawn.
“Now you will have good luck,” she said.
As we walked back across the garden Khun Sonthaya was frowning. He seemed troubled; he clearly had something on his mind and blurted out “But Alex, promise me something…you need to fix the figure with the broken sideways head…it isn’t right.”
Chapter 4
Living With The Triads
Mid February: Still hasn’t rained but is getting hotter. Garden plants shrivel and die within one day if not watered or protected from the sun.
“Hay Yoo…wanna buy puppy dog, yoo wanna drink beer?” Jerry
“Hi Jerry” I shout through my bamboo hedge and into our neighbours garden. He doesn’t hear me.
Jerry waters the garden with a hose in one hand whilst holding a cigarette and a bottle of Singha beer in the other. It’s 10 o’clock in the morning. This is how Jerry starts every day. As Thom would say, “dude, this is how he rolls.” But of course, as you will know by now he wouldn’t say that he would bellow “DUDE, THIS IS HOW HE ROLLS.” And then laugh and throw his head back and probably yell “BOOM” just for the sake of it.
Jerry is wearing white jeans, black tear drop sunglasses, sandals and a silver vest top with a picture of a tiger on the front. Jerry is very cool and very rich and he is our new next door neighbour, and he is also in the Hong Kong Mafia, and I’m pretty sure his real name is not Jerry.
About three weeks after we moved in, the empty house next door was rented out. There was the traditional week long house makeover by a team of six Burmese workers who transformed a large old house into a large new house. They painted every room white, they painted the fence black and get this, they even painted the red roof tiles red. It wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch of the imagination for them to have painted the grass green.
Dead leaves were lopped off palm trees with a razor sharp sickle that was lashed to a long bamboo pole. Hedges were clipped and the enormous waterfall water feature in the front garden was re-plumbed by a team of special water feature engineers who turned up wearing white boiler suits in a white Mercedes van with the words “Pond Pool Pump” on the side.
The whole house gleamed in the sun against a dark blue cloudless sky; the bright red roof, the brilliant white walls. It hurt my eyes to look at it.
Back in the UK we had normal neighbours. Steve and Maggie on one side were teachers, and on the other side we had Eric and Anne who were a very quiet retired couple. Eric had worked all his life as a Farm Manager and really knew his onions.
Soon after Jerry arrived next door I went around with a cake just to say hello and be neighbourly. My wife said that I was just being nosey, which I was, but I was also just being neighbourly. It’s important to make the effort don’t you think?
I asked him what he did (which, yes, okay I do admit is a bit nosey).
“Import and export,” he said without hesitation.
“Oh, what do you import?” I naively asked
“Money” he said and roared with laughter like a Chinese drain. I haven’t asked Jerry anything else about his work since, not that he appears to do any.
The day after Jerry and his family arrived they all roared off in an eight seat taxi and bought themselves a white Toyota truck the size of a space. It was even bigger than Tom’s. Jerry has to climb up a little ladder just to get into it.
The day after this they all roared off again in their new mother ship like truck and came back with a large free-standing, open-sided canopy which they erected on their driveway and parked their truck under. Very ingenious. The day after this they roared off and came back with four brand new mountain bikes, one each for Jerry and his wife and two smaller ones for their children. They wobbled up the road on them, fell off and walked them back to the front garden where they chucked them down on the front lawn where they still lie, untouched. The day after this they bought an expensive large gas barbecue unit. The day after this they bought a set of reclining garden chairs. The day after this they bought a new sofa set and the day after this a TV that has the biggest screen I have ever seen. Then they bought four expensive skateboards (?), a baseball set, air guns and free-standing targets, a table tennis table, a giant fridge that sits outside the back door as it’s too big to get into the house (don’t you just love it) and so many other extravagant and wild and useless things.
Every day they get up late. Jerry waters the garden whilst smoking and drinking, as you know, and then they go out for lunch, after which they go shopping. They do this every day and come back at about tea time with what I call “purchase of the day.” This has become so routine and so part of our lives that when our children come home from school they casually ask what the purchase of the day has been.
It’s amazing that Chiang Mai has not run out of stuff. Jerry and his family must be single handedly keeping all the new, massive Chiang Mai shopping malls in business. They do buy some amazing stuff though.
The other day Jerry came back with a huge punch bag and lots of other fitness accoutrements to create an outside gym and his own private Thai Kick Boxing training centre. There are weights on racks and punch bags hanging from trees, sparring gloves and special head protection gear; the whole shebang. He got his wife to hold up a big black protective padded shield while he smoked, drank beer and kicked wildly at it. He did a few impressive looking flying drop kicks, until in the end his wife, who somewhat understandably, got fed up being kicked, screamed at him and stormed off back inside to watch TV and scream a bit more at the kids.
Like everything else he has bought, it lasts until the following day when they roar off and buy something else. This was a bit of a problem with the puppy.
“Hey…you,” Jerry can never remember my name so calls me Hey You which I like to think of as my traditional Chinese name, Hay Yoo.
“Hi Jerry,” I say. He is walking down his drive.
“You want puppy dog?” he asks, as if he’s asking to borrow a rake.
“Er, no, not right now,” I say.
“I not like, it shit and make noise…fucking thing.” He spits on the pavement next to me, like a Mexican bandit in a film. He does a lot of spitting actually which might explain the excessive hosing down of his garden. To help along our friendship I know that it would help if I also spat, it would be a kind of bonding thing, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. In the name of bonding it would also probably help if I began to get wasted more often in public places, namely Jerry’s front garden. It would also probably help if I wore immaculate white jeans, developed a little beer belly and hung out in brothels, but my mind was, as always, way ahead of me. Instead I said:
“Why did you get it…a puppy’s not just for Christmas,” I said, remembering the animal protection slogan. Jerry just looks at me and spits again. I get the feeling that animal protection is not high on his list of priorities. I doubt that Jerry has even heard of animal protection.
“Fucking kids…and fucking wife,” and he motions conspiratorially with his thumb towar
ds his house and I get the impression that being a family man is also not high on his list of priorities. Jerry does like to swear a lot as well. Considering his English isn’t great he has picked up a full and impressive compliment of words that you would not expect most English language students to have mastered.
“Oh well…” I say in an unhelpfully jolly ho-hum kind of way. “What are you up to today?” I ask, hoping to get a sneak preview of the purchase of the day.
“Drink beer and have fucking great time,” he says in a rather challenging way, but you can’t deny his openess.
“Well, have a great day,” I say rather weakly and he walked back into his house accompanied by the sound of children screaming, incessant dog yapping and a TV screen the size of Moldova blaring out Chinese pop music videos at full blast.
I am not, you understand, spying on Jerry and his family, as everything they do or say is rather difficult to miss. Everything is shouted at Thom-like volume. If they leave the house it’s like an emergency evacuation of New York. You would have to be in a full coma not to miss it and even then you would probably wake up:
“Hello nurse, what on earth is that noise? Is it still 1956”
“No Mr Gimlet , I’m afraid that you have been asleep for a very long time, oh and that’s just Jerry and his family going out to buy roller skates.”
Jerry is usually yelling at Mrs Jerry, while Mrs Jerry is usually yelling at the kids, one of which is almost always screaming, the TV is on full blast and the other child is yelling and running uncontrollably around the garden smashing everything he can reach with a baseball bat. It’s as though he is force-feeding his kids cocaine. I would say the modern day phrase “it’s full on” was coined to describe Jerry and his family. Although there are only, for the most part, four people, it sounds like four hundred.
I say, for the most part, as often Jerry and his family have family and friends visiting. I assume they are flying in on a direct flight from Hong Kong which has re-opened again. It’s like living next door to a Chinese version of The Simpsons (which makes me Ned Flanders, which isn’t so great).