The Neighborhood

By request, here are some random shots of my street. Each has been framed or otherwise cropped to appear as idyllic as possible.

The pool is a few steps from my patio and is just days old. The dog is one of three masters of the house. The flag is one of many flying over Thailand these days in honor of the king's 60 years (and counting) on the throne. What might look like a birdhouse is in fact a small shrine, in this case a replica of a Buddhist temple. The barbed wire and glass shards were installed by the previous owners, when this place was a fishery or cannery or something.

My neighbors are very nice. One woman recently treated me to one of the coconuts I watched her hack from a tree with a machete that was as big as her (tiny) arm. She cut a hole in the top and served it with a straw. The juice inside was milky and sweet, and I gnawed on the meat under the lid. Yesterday she gave me a bowl of vermicelli-like noodles with crushed red pepper, sprouts, basil leaves, chives, and a tease of lime juice. There were also a few chunks of dried fish but, yellowed and tasteless, they might very well have been stale banana chips.

I'm sure I'll get flak (again) for not taking pictures of actual human beings, but I'm just observing the Golden Rule of Photography: "Do not photograph those you do not know lest they, like you would surely if you were them, desire to shove you (backwards) into a row of garbage cans." You can look it up.

Last Run

Went on a visa run to Burma on Monday, my last for the foreseeable future. Bought a ticket for a "big bus" and so was a bit perturbed when a minivan picked me up that morning. I can understand that ridership is down during the low season, but took exception to the bait-and-switch. Upon our return, I rode through a steady drizzle to catch the agent who sold me the ticket before she closed for the evening. I seem to be the lone voice in a wilderness of consumer apathy, but someone has to stand up for the rights of tourists here. The travelers I see fall into two categories: 1) people who happily allow themselves to get ripped off and 2) people who react violently to, say, being served lukewarm rice*. I prefer to argue my case logically so as to reach a level of understanding that’s beneficial for all parties. Then, and only then, do I react violently and/or surrender my money like a sap. The agent hemmed and hawed but finally agreed to do the right thing and refunded the price difference.

The seasonal downturn in the number of tourists was reflected in the asking prices of imitation Viagra, Burmese booze, and (probably counterfeit) cigarettes. A package of four India-manufactured “Kamagra” tablets that would have cost me $7.50 two months ago was offered this time for $2. I changed the subject by asking about the 2004 Tsunami. Having gone on a visa run just weeks afterwards, I knew the damage this far north had been minimal but wanted to hear an eyewitness account. One of the kids hustling me pointed to the 10-foot seawall that fronts the small Burmese city of Kawthuang and said, "Boom!" while motioning with his hands to suggest the water struck the wall like a storm surge, rose, and fell back just as quickly. The channel between Thailand and Burma certainly would not have been a fun place to be that day, but the innumerable small islands that dot the Andaman Sea would have lessened the blow considerably.

Our return to Thailand featured a new twist: the ferry stopped at a floating platform set just offshore from a tiny island by the mouth of Ranong’s harbor. Atop the platform were three Thai border guards, a desk, a dog, and a plastic awning. One of the guards jumped into our boat, a narrow longtail (so narrow, in fact, that the chubby guard could barely make his way down the center aisle), for a quick inspection. A newly enforced regulation limits border-hoppers to one carton of cigarettes and/or one bottle of alcohol. The woman seated next to me, a Vietnamese national, jammed one of her two cartons of cigs under my arm just seconds before the guard checked us out.

BTW, the rainy season seems to have truly begun. Monday’s storms were heavy and knocked out power that evening in several sections of Patong and Phuket Town that I happened to pass through. As a result, most of the noodle huts and carts that set up along roadsides were offering dinner by candlelight. Tuesday was better, but I was not able to leave my room until late afternoon. There has been no letup today, and as of 4:53pm, it’s looking like I’m going to be stuck here the rest of the day. I’ve already had cereal for breakfast and lunch. I can’t even make pasta as the rain is coming in at an angle and keeps extinguishing the gas burner on my patio. Strong winds battered my golf umbrella to pieces the last time I played, but I might have to salvage it if I’m going to eat a hot meal tonight.

*Witnessed.

Progress

The month or so between the end of the tourist season and the start of the rainy season represents an opening into which the Phuket government tries to shoehorn a year's worth of public works projects. The main road down the street from my place has been ripped apart for more than two weeks but the work is finally showing signs of completion. When finished, Route 4024 to Rawai Beach and the popular sunset viewpoint on Phromthep Cape at the southern tip of the island will be four lanes wide. Normally I would bemoan such change, but it can only help the increasingly desperate traffic situation. Volumes are still manageable, but the single-lane free-for-all between cars and motorbikes needs to stop.

Thus motivated to seek detours, I've stumbled across some areas that I did not know existed. I hadn't truly appreciated how "big" the island really is, and how much of its interior is untouched. Not for long, of course. Plans have already been announced for a major road to bisect the southern third of Phuket.

BTW, Thailand has been celebrating the king's diamond jubilee (i.e., 60 years on the throne) for the better part of a week. Everyone is asked to do their part.

89

Broke 90 by the skin of my teeth again the other day. Played alone for the first three holes, then joined a 45-ish Thai man behind a slow-moving fivesome (playing groups of up to six, not counting caddies, are generally allowed in Thailand on weekdays).

I was using the delay to take a few extra practice swings when my partner, Wanjai, remarked, "They Phuket mafia. Like Al Capone." I chuckled but when I looked up I saw that he was stone-faced. Whoever they were, they fell all over themselves in greeting Wanjai and letting us play through as we approached the next tee, suggesting to me he's either the island's top cop or criminal overlord. I wasn't about to joke about either possibility, and the only bit of biographical information I got from him was that he studied somewhere in Michigan more than 20 years ago.