Mean Street

I live somewhere between the towns of Chalong and Rawai in the southeast corner of the island of Phuket. I recently explained to a friend that this area is the "real" Thailand, or at least a trip 25 years back in time relative to the western shore, which is dominated by touristy beach towns. Overexposure to their hedonistic ways can severely impair one's faculties, but here on the west coast we're more in tune with the waves and the birds and the toads. Idyllic, yes, but today's Phuket Gazette blew the lid off my daydreamy backwater.

Where to begin? Well, the 7-11 I stop at daily was the scene of a grisly murder earlier this month. If you hurry you can read about it here, but the story is that a few careless words late one night resulted in the stabbing death of a local man.

Days later, and even closer to home, a local businessman was killed in a drive-by shooting. Two Thai police officers were arrested in connection with the purported contract killing, but the gunman remains at large. Details are available online, but now I know why an SUV parked awkwardly on the side of the road attracted so much police attention last week. Authorities preserved the crime scene for at least two days; I passed by numerous times but remained wholly ignorant of what had happened (the bullet holes were covered by a tarp).

Last night, with my blissful naivete still intact, I was minutes behind a terrible accident involving a motorbike and (possibly) two cars. I pulled off to the side of the two-lane road when I realized this was not an ordinary traffic jam. I was just a few hundred yards from my street but could not have left even if I had wanted to; within minutes I was blocked behind rows of parked motorbikes as curious passersby gathered.

Two people were lying in the road, a 40-something man and a slightly older woman, both Thai. The man was barely moving his right arm; the woman was not moving at all. There was a curious lack of blood. Police were on the scene within minutes and an ambulance arrived soon afterwards, but the interim was a disquieting period of mob rule. A young man began to cover the woman with newspaper, but moments later another man ripped them away.

Crowd reactions varied from quiet concern and morbib curiosity to callous indifference and gallows humor, but were united in disgust when a foreign man in a pickup truck ran over the wrecked bike as he rubbernecked his way by. He stopped immediately and was quickly surrounded by an angry throng. With the crowd whistling its disapproval, a police officer escorted the driver to the side of the road. I would not expect the police here to let that kind of stupidity go unpunished and imagine the guy did not escape without a fine.

The male victim was loaded into the ambulance by stretcher. His eyelids fluttered wildly and again he moved his right arm slightly. The ambulance wasted no time in leaving the scene, and with the police focused on traffic control, the woman was again unattended. The crowd pushed towards her and another young man took her head in his hands in a violent and emotional attempt to revive her. He was quickly pulled away, and after several more agonizing minutes a "Rescue Team" arrived in a covered pickup truck, the same service that recently answered a call from my landlords to remove a snake from their rock garden.

I could not see in what way they might have checked for vital signs but a break in the crowd revealed them carefully wrapping the woman in a white sheet and covering with sand a small pool of blood nearby. The crowd finally receded as they drove her away. I started to leave but a matronly woman insisted on telling me her version of the events. Most of the key aspects of her account were in Thai, but I understood her to say that two cars were involved, that someone was turning, and that someone else was passing. Anything beyond that would be speculation.

Thailand has for years led the region in roadway mortality, but not without good reason. Thai drivers are no worse (but certainly no better) than their Asian counterparts, but Thailand's transportation-friendly energy policies, robust economy, and liberal traffic laws have made for a boom in private ownership of motor vehicles and an uneasy coexistence of cars and motorbikes. Beijing, in comparison, is far from a driver's paradise but motorbikes are banned in much of the city and are otherwise climatically impractical. Motorbiking in Vietnam is not for the faint of heart, but the country's steep import duties and strict quotas make motorbikes, let alone cars, a luxury beyond the means of most of its citizens.

Step Lively

I'm trying to even up my stark golfer's tan, so my morning routine of late has been to greet the morning sun with a cup of hot cereal. Finishing the cup can take as many as fifteen minutes (yes, it's that hot), which is about as long as my alabaster exterior can handle safely.

Walking among the palm trees this morning offered some unusual excitement when a large gourd hit the ground a few yards from me. Despite their light weight, the volleyball-sized fruit pack quite a wallop from a height of 50 feet.

Fine Dining

I'm cooking for myself most of the time, but for Thai meals I've been frequenting a mom-and-pop place down the road. They make a pork sausage stuffed with vermicelli. Delicious -- I just wish I had known the secret ingredient before biting into it.

"Pop" made a small show of offering me chili sauce in English. I reciprocated his warmth by complimenting him on the taste. It was good, but even I realized I was gushing over the "ketchup" -- in fact, the sauce was likely a Heinz product.

BTW, while shopping the other day, I could not resist the lure of a $6 pair of computer speakers. My rental unit has wi-fi but no TV, so I'm now in the habit of streaming radio broadcasts (especially the BBC) through my laptop. But if I'm cooking at my outdoor kitchen-space, I can't hear anything. You get what you pay for, of course, so I should not have been surprised when I plugged the speakers in to find that they were no more powerful than a pair of earphones. I exchanged them less than 24 hours later for two boxes of granola, pasta, fresh guava juice, and a pair of socks.

Snake Wranglers

Had some excitement last week: the owners found a large "rat snake" on the premises. I always thought something bigger than a lizard was living in the rock garden and now I know what.

The owners called an animal rescue service and the duo that responded made quick work of it. The snake did not go without a fight, of course, and proved to be remarkably fast and strong. I'm told this particular type of snake is non-venomous but extremely aggressive. It was only the second snake I'd ever seen on the island. The first was bisected by the front tire of my motorbike more than a year ago before either of us fully realized what was happening.

Stuffing it into a burlap sack, the lead wrangler suffered a nasty bite between his thumb and forefinger, but was undeterred in his plans to release the snake humanely (hopefully more than a block away). The two accepted only cigarettes and iced tea as payment.

Modified American Plan

I enjoyed my first few days in Thailand on an American-minded budget, when 200 baht seemed to me "only" $5. But I soon (re)learned the value of a baht and am back to my thrifty ways.

My wake-up call came in the form of fettuccine alfredo. You might imagine that ordering Italian in Thailand would be a mistake. Well, sometimes it is, but you'd be surprised at the number of Old World retirees who have set up eateries here to satisfy their ancestral tastes. Maybe I caught this particular place on an off night, but I realized I could make something comparable for pennies on the dollar.

The pot and accessories I have since picked up paid for themselves in less than three meals. Nevertheless, 175 baht for a cheese grater seems outrageous to me. That's one item that will find room in my luggage for the trip home.

I don't believe I've ever purchased olive oil in the States; I remember it tended to be a bit pricey in Beijing, but $10 a liter here seems high. I found a Spanish brand for about $7.50 but discovered that refined rice bran oil (at less than $1 per liter) works well too. Hey, don't knock it till you try it -- antioxidants are antioxidants.

Say No to this Face?

The dogs, i.e. the rottweilers, here get a chance to run the premises most mornings. My backdoor seems to be a regular stop, albeit brief, on their check of the perimeter. This is not a photograph of me losing my hand; I'm just trying to stay on the good side of, in this case, the mid-sized one. They can't resist a good ear rub, but I'm wondering what the reaction will be the day I don't feel like patting.

46

Have been going to the range five days a week, but today was only my second time on the golf course this season. I almost quit after four holes: double bogey, bogey, double bogey, double bogey, and two lost balls. Plus it was a damn hot day; sweat was pouring off me and stinging my eyes.

Waiting for greenskeepers to clear the sixth fairway gave me a chance to take several extra practice swings. That's when I had a revelation: I've been over-rotating my hips through the backswing. In the last two weeks I've adopted a new stance that facilitates a proper weight-shift, but I now realize I've been overdoing it. Simply put, the backswing is a sequence of two motions: a turning of the hips (about 45 degrees), followed by a full shoulder turn. The key is that the upper body turns against a more or less static (once the hips stop turning) lower body to create the dynamic tension that drives a truly powerful golf swing. Over-rotating the hips made such a "coil" of kinetic energy impossible and forced me to compensate by lunging at the ball and swinging harder with my arms and wrists, usually with disastrous results.

I parred three of the last four holes, including two of the toughest holes on the course. My caddy, who had previously been too scared to approach me (and my foul mood) actually applauded my last four drives.

BTW, I think it's clear now that no serious golfer can be without The Golfer's Elbow.

Skilled Hands

Last night I had my second massage since returning to Phuket. Massage options abound here, but I plan to be a regular at "Pim and Ek's Beauty & Massage". There's probably no such thing as a "bad" massage, but I knew I had found someone special in Pim when just minutes into our first session I started daydreaming of playing on the Asian PGA Tour and hiring her as my travelling masseuse.

Pim might be 40, but she's remarkably fit whatever her age. She is extremely thorough and, better yet, ignores the clock. My first "one hour" massage stretched to 75 minutes. Last night's session pushed the two-hour mark. Even with a 50% tip, the bill was just $8. That's marginally cheaper than many places on the island but still the "farang" or foreigner price. If I were Thai, the cost would be about $2. No, I'm not complaining.

My flexibility has improved considerably in just a week, especially in my hamstrings. Pim has an uncanny ability to find adhesions and sore spots. She has spent a lot of time working the soles of my feet. I haven't been able to follow most of her explanations of the accupressure points involved, but I leave feeling inches taller.

Did I mention I got scalped last week? I got a $2 haircut at a hole in the wall and left looking like a Thai military recruit. I had learned to live with it until Ek chased me out of the salon last night and asked me who cut my hair, "Not good, back short too much!" I knew that already but with a mirror she showed me how uneven it is as well. She offered to clean it up but I promised to see her the next time I needed a cut.

44

Played my first nine holes of golf since returning to Thailand today. Did not hit the ball quite as well as I had at the range all week, but I have reasons to be encouraged. My new stance has me striking the ball much more consistently and powerfully. At the risk of boring non-golfers, I'll tell you that I used to set the ball too far back in my stance, thereby discouraging a proper weight shift through the downswing and resulting in a swing powered mostly by my arms.

Golf courses in Thailand generally allow groups of up to six players on weekdays. Not to stereotype, but such sixsomes are generally Thai, male, and betting heavily on every hole. Playing between two sixsomes is an experience not easily forgotten. Being flanked by 24 people (don't forget the caddies) tests a player's focus and intestinal fortitude. From behind, one imagines these players watch too much golf on television. Every professional mannerism is on display. Greens are read and reread, and club honors seem to ride on every stroke. But dawdle and the trailing group will somehow be on top of you before you can turn around.

Thai-Style Upsell

Got a flat tire today, second time I've had that rear tire go flat. Was zipping along and felt it go mushy all of a sudden. Fortunately I was not far from a repair shop. Took some vigorous finger pointing from several interested passers-by to finally find the place, but I had the opportunity to practice some new vocabulary.

"Excuse me, where is the motorbike shop?"

And thus ended the day's lesson, but my interlocutors were ready to engage me in spirited discussions of philosophy, politics, and the arts, or so it seemed. I had to disabuse them of the notion I could carry a conversation -- always a humbling experience.

The bike shop was notable for two things: an enormous pile of horribly mangled tires and a large collection of live birds (doves, I think) in elegant wicker cages. The inner tube was patched and ready to go for 50 cents, about half of what I remember paying last year.

But usually you get what you pay for. A mile or two down the road I stopped to buy water; by the time I got back on my bike the rear tire was mushy again. Again I lucked out, though; next door was another bike shop, this one with three big and beautiful custom motorcycles out front.

The new patch seemed to be holding but the tire had multiple punctures so the only thing left to do was install a new inner tube. When the tire came off they opened up the brake drum for a look. I imagined this was akin to the "free brake inspection" most mechanics offer with an oil change. The upshot was about the same: Oh, you need new [brake shoes]! I thought the brakes were a bit soft, but I didn't feel the need to tell the mechanic that. I asked how much and braced myself for the sucker punch: $4. What, can that be right? No wait, $3.75, labor included! I would have paid $10 just for the job they did cleaning the brake drum and tightening the rear assembly.

I don't know if the brakes are really any better. They feel firmer, but that could be my imagination. If nothing else, I'm sure I've staved off catastrophic brake failure for another few thousand kilometers.

I could quip that the first shop was for the birds but only so that no one else has to.

Test

This is a test posting for the benefit of my friend Isabel -- and for any other friends in China who might take an interest in my online ramblings -- to see if the "BlogSend" feature might be a way to circumvent Chinese government Internet controls.

Addendum (3/6): It didn't work.

Addendum II (3/7): No, wait -- maybe it did work.

Addendum III (3/7): It works, but the BlogSend field allows for only a single e-mail address. Hey Google, what gives?

Addendum IV (3/11): Creating a "Google Group" mailing list is one way to reach multiple addresses via BlogSend.

Home Away from Home

Took a game of musical rooms, but I'm finally settled into a really sweet pad. Can I say pad, or is that too beatnik? At any rate, no beatnik would gripe about wi-fi, a plunge pool (12'x6'x6' with a waterfall), hammock, and a garden of not fewer than seven palm trees. My rent is $194 per month, utilities included.

Not pictured here are the three rottweilers guarding the premises -- the pride and joy of the New Zealand couple who own the place. They seem nice enough, nice enough to let me pet them anyway, but I'm glad they're penned most of the time. The male might be a big softie, but he could devour a fire hydrant if he wanted to.

The town is Chalong, on Phuket's eastern shore. The area is far less touristed than the western shore but popular with divers. There is a significant muslim population on the island and there's a mosque not far from here. The muezzin has already embraced the new Islamic tradition of using modern PA systems, but at this distance the effect is still quaint.

I've already retrieved, unpacked, and cleaned everything I had in storage. There was some mold to contend with, but everything fared quite well spending close to eight months in a Thai hot box. Apparently I didn't make much of an impression with the (American) guy running the storage facility; I had to reintroduce myself each time we met, including twice in the span of 30 hours.

I've already had a lesson regarding the symbiotic relationship my room has with the local fauna. I hung a duffel bag off the back of one of the patio chairs to air. A day or so later I threw it in the bottom of my closet; about 1o hours after that I found the second largest toad I've ever seen contemplating my golf shoes. Last time around I stayed in a fifth-floor, and later a fourth-floor, apartment and was in the habit of sleeping with my windows and balcony doors wide open but now there's just too much biology taking place on my doorstep.

Could I be subject to a fatwa if that "quaint" remark gets back to the wrong people?