Philosophical Differences

Could not resist the urge to have a couple of suits (and two blazers) made before leaving Phuket. There are a few tailor-made items in my closet that might never again see the light of day, but overall I've had great results in this part of the world. Phuket is lousy with tailors (mostly from Burma and India) and all of them are starving for business these days -- a low season on the heels of a prolonged post-tsunami (post-SARS, post-avian flu, post-9/11, post-Asian financial crisis) downturn.

For the suits, I went with a navy blue two-button and a gray three-button. The latter features a very subtle pinstriping; the former is pretty basic but I recently retired my old blue suit. As is a matter of course with any good tailor, both suits came with two pairs of pants each (pants wear out faster than suit jackets). As for the blazers, one is navy and the other is a textured grayish-brown that will look good with khakis.

Apart from our haggling over a final price (that was Step 2 in the process after selecting bolts of material), I wrestled with the haberdasher regarding fit. His seemed to be a Euro-centric sense of style and he pushed for an exceedingly form-fitting cut. He pointed to the Armani, Hugo Boss, and Versace catalogs he had in abundance to make his case. The male models therein might be six feet tall but I doubt they weigh more than 160 pounds, and I worried that the "shrink-wrap" fit that they could barely pull off would look ridiculous on me. As we continued to spar (good-naturedly), he asked why use a tailor at all if what I really wanted was an off-the-rack fit. In the end we found a comfortable middle ground, but I quietly conceded that my sense of sizing might be skewed by uniquely American concepts like "relaxed fit".

I once wrote that one cannot scale the heights of self-importance without a tailor -- and there really is no substitute for the tailor-fit experience and probably no easier way to feel like royalty.

Goodbye Kamala

As part of my ongoing "farewell tour" of Phuket, I checked out Kamala Beach on Saturday. Kamala had always had a special place in my heart; I stayed at a small, family-run hotel of stilted bungalows there during my first two visits to the island, back in 2002. Sections of the Thai mainland, as well as numerous tiny islands in the Andaman Sea (not to mention Banda Aceh, Sri Lanka, the Maldives, and elsewhere) were hit harder by the 2004 tsunami, but Kamala sustained more damage than any other town on Phuket.

It had been more than a year since I'd checked Kamala's recovery, but the town has obviously been busy in that time. Inland sections showed considerable development, mostly in the form of residential construction (some of it upscale). The main street was always decidedly commercial, but is now more thickly-settled than I remember. At the time of my first visit, the beachfront was quiet and unpretentious. The tsunami wiped most of it away, but the area has rebounded bigger and "better". My beloved hotel has been replaced by an enormous four- or five-star resort. I remember a dispute regarding "encroachment" on public lands ensnared several of the businesses in Kamala immediately after the tsunami; the government wanted to rezone much of the beachfront, but the "little guys" -- the moms and pops, the fishermen, and others -- feared a land-grab orchestrated behind the scenes by big property developers. I'd like to think there was an amicable, or at least fair, ending, but it would be the first among the land disputes one often hears about here anecdotally.

An enormous man-made, concrete-reinforced canal (100-feet across at its widest point and about half as deep) will go a long way towards protecting much of the town in the event of another killer wave. An adjacent memorial honors the tsunmi victims, but what was once an unpretentious public park, where kids would gather in the early evening for pick-up games of soccer and where public concerts were occasionally performed in a small gazebo, now seemed to shout at me to keep off the grass and be on my way. I cruised the beach road but was repelled by noxious pop music played at obscene volumes by a couple of the new bars and cafes. One man's nostalgia is another's bad memory, and far be it from me to begrudge a town's "progress" but Kamala has suddenly become my least favorite part of the island.

Further north, Surin Beach offered a refreshing contrast. Development has been booming here for years, but in the form of high-end condos and the like. Touristy glitz is nonexistent and the beach and adjacent grassy park were like what I remembered of Kamala.

Nearby Laemsing Beach is still a jewel, provided you keep your back to the row of decrepit, open-air restaurants and a litter-strewn section where the beach meets gnarled roots and branches at the foot of a steep hill. I have high hopes that there will always be a few parts of Phuket that survive. Areas like Laemsing are so steep and rocky that they might actually be development-proof.

The weather continues to be beautiful. Apart from a three-day stretch last month when I wondered if I would see the sun again, the start of the "rainy" season continues to be mostly clear. The sea is rough, however, and standing in just shin-deep water at Laemsing was enough to feel the violent pull of the undertow. Monsoon activity elsewhere in the region makes for treacherous swimming here, in fact swimming is currently prohibited at most (if not all) of Phuket's beaches, but not everyone heeds the warnings.

The Future of "Outsourcing"

Got a basic check-up the other day at one of Phuket's three (four?) major hospitals. Two of the three have expanded enormously in the last two years and dozens of specialized clinics have popped up as well to ride the growing trend of "health tourism". Increasing numbers of tourists are finding time between massages, rounds of golf, and hours on the beach to get a variety of (mostly cosmetic) work done for a fraction of what comparable services would cost in the States.

Cosmetic dentistry tops the list, and of course acupuncture has been virtually mainstream for years, but I expect the biggest growth will be in cosmetic surgery. Thai doctors are building a solid reputation and aging westerners will soon come in droves for a variety of tucks, lifts, and implants. That might only be the start, however. A team of back specialists in Bangkok already gets high marks from China's expat medical community. An American friend of mine in Beijing had back surgery in BKK in 2004 and went from barely walking to getting back in the gym in a span of weeks -- and for about a fifth of what he would have paid in the States.

OK, you're probably thinking that "discount" medical care, especially surgery, is not for you. But consider that the top doctors here are the products of international training and experience. The average annual per capita cost of medical insurance in the U.S. already exceeds the price of a round-trip ticket to Thailand (or India, for that matter). To hell with the HMOs -- at this rate, I'm ready to start saving for a trip to Bangkok or Mumbai for knee-replacement surgery circa 2030. The U.S. should worry less about the loss of assembly-line jobs and more about creating a sustainable health care system. One shouldn't need a passport to see a doctor, but I'll keep mine at the ready.

Short of blood work, I had a complete physical (eyes, ears, throat, blood pressure) for a jaw-dropping $2.50! That included a few minutes of face time with a real doctor, who thoroughly poked and prodded me. I couldn't believe my ears. That shattered my previous "best" when I paid $10 last year for a consultation at the same hospital regarding some digestive problems. However, that price did include prescription costs.

I asked about booster shots (it's been more than 10 years since my last round of immunizations). The eyes of the younger of two nurses on duty grew very wide as, between my halting Thai and her fractured English, she initially believed that I had tetanus, hepatitis A, and typhoid.

Farewell My Sweet Ride

I'm just days away from selling the only new (motorized) vehicle I've ever owned. It's not the biggest bike I've ever ridden, but it represents more than 6,000 miles of great memories. For example, every day for five months I took a right off of Patong's Nanai Road and accelerated through the double chicane that connects Sai Nam Yen and Phisit Karani roads, and every day it brought a smile to my face. What follows is the journal entry I made on October 15, 2004, the day I bought the bike:

I bought a motorbike today, specifically a 125cc Honda Dream. It's brand new and black. I had planned all along to buy one, but was hoping to buy used. However, the four Thais I happened to speak with on the subject very quickly, and in no uncertain terms, disabused me of that idea. Moreover, I'm sure that one of them – a young woman who lives in my apartment building – will not soon let me live it down.

"Secondhand no good for you," she said. I nodded thoughtfully and she hit me with, "What you thinking, man?" before wincing in apparent disgust. I tried to counter by saying, "Well, I just want a good value. I'm only g-"

"You CRAY-zy!"

"I don't see the-"

"You buy, two days KAPUT!"

"OK, OK, I got ya."

What followed were staccato blasts of Thai that did not seem to be in any way flattering.

Another tenant told me of a scam in which a "Thai man" would sell me a used bike only to steal it back later.

"How would he know where I live?" I asked.

"He know," she responded flatly.

"But why not just steal some other bike?" I pressed.

"He TAKE! Want to sell same same, OK?"

I wasn’t about to argue with that, and was reminded of a promise I'd made myself never to buy a used vehicle from a private party. In 2000 I bought a 1994 Honda Accord EX from a friend of a friend of a friend only to have the transmission blow up almost immediately. The car has been great ever since, but I always told myself 'never again'.

I hitched a ride from (yet) another fellow tenant and went to a nearby Honda motorbike dealership – just like a Honda auto dealership, really, but on a motorbike scale. The saleswoman spoke passable English and was more than happy to answer all of my questions.

I didn't walk in totally defenseless; I had a good idea of the market rates for both new and used bikes from a few weeks of online research. I kicked the tires of the lot's "flagship" – a silver model with all the bells and whistles (such as they are on a motorbike) for about US$1,300. There was also a "special edition" model in an outrageous shade of green for about the same amount of money. The saleswoman really, really wanted me to bite on that SE. "Perfect for you, I think," she said.

There were several smaller-engine models available for well under $1,000, but I figured, given my size and the kinds of hills I’ll have to traverse on a regular basis, buying anything under 125cc would be a bad idea. But then again, we're only talking about one cylinder.

I ended up paying about $1,025 for a model with electric start and not much else, but with title, registration, and insurance included. No fuss, no muss. They zinged me for an extra three percent for paying by Visa (for the record, my Visa debit card). At least I saved a little by passing on the digital fuel gauge and "double lock". The former looked rather shoddy, while I didn't see how the latter could do anything to discourage a motivated thief.

I think I got a good buy, but the price was about double what I had hoped to spend on transportation. Before finally signing on the dotted line, I dealt with my sticker shock by going to lunch – and talking motorbikes with the restaurant staff – and afterwards lounging in my apartment to think about it a bit more. I soon convinced myself that the extra money would be an investment in peace of mind and, given the bike's strong resale value, that I could sell it at a deep discount if necessary and still manage to spend less than I would have on a long-term rental.

I did think about checking out the Suzuki and Yamaha models available (one offers automatic transmission), or at least visiting a Honda dealer in a more remote part of the island. I even shared my ideas with my new friends, albeit reluctantly, considering the body blows I had taken just hours before. They informed me that Honda is the undisputed motorbike king of Thailand, while Suzuki and Yamaha are still comparatively new to the market and have not developed much of a reputation, good or bad. They also said any discount that might exist elsewhere on the island would be instantly negated by my white face. Of course, their explanation was a bit more colorful, but I don’t think we need to go there.

Apparently a sales promotion was in effect. While I was filling out the paperwork on my new bike, the saleswoman laid out a number of gifts: a rice cooker; an electric fan; a Honda jacket, key chain, and shammy; a mini FM stereo; and one helmet. Unfortunately the helmet is one-size-fits-all (known in Thailand as "free size"), which means that on a head my size it affords about as much protection as a plastic yarmulke. I'm looking forward to using the rice cooker, but will re-gift the fan, radio, and jacket at the first opportunity. The jacket would actually be pretty cool if: 1) it were about twice its actual size, and 2) it did not prominently feature an obese cartoon angel on the back. Definitely not bad-ass.

Turns out that Hondas enjoy as solid a resale value in Thailand as they do everywhere else. My selling price is more than fair, but my final cost still works out to about a $1 for each day I actually rode (not just owned) the bike -- less than half of the average long-term rental rate. Gas prices have nearly doubled in Thailand since I bought it, but I still pay less than $2 to fill the tank and less than $5 in an average week. And no, I'm not prepared to start driving in the States again. I'll bike as much as possible and will try not to watch when I refuel my car for the first time.

Brave New Wardrobe

"More sticthes, less riches" was a slogan of the dystopian society Aldous Huxley depicted in A Brave New World, the idea being that in a consumer-driven economy it's better to replace something than to repair it. Such a jab at disposable societies doesn't pack the same punch it did in 1932, in fact the saying could probably be revived today as a marketing pitch or a political rallying cry, but I was reminded of the concept last week when I had a pair of shorts repaired.

The shorts are not without a certain sentimental value, so I would have tried to save them in any case, but I didn't have much of a choice. Anyone on the plus side of "medium" won't find a whole lot here, apart from some garish beachwear. I used to think that the island's expat retirees looked like geriatric hip-hop stars because they had no prior experience in dressing themselves, but apparently they are simply in the wrong demographic. Even the island's upscale mall seems to be more in tune with what upwardly-mobile Thais are buying than with the needs of overweight westerners.

I paid $1.25 to a woman set up with a sewing machine on the sidewalk in front of a small, family-run laundry to patch several holes in my shorts and reattach the velcro strap on my golf glove. Pictured above and below are the inside of the shorts' hems. Holes were separated from bigger holes by just threads, so she had to insert some additional material.

Can one have clothes mended in the States anymore? Does anyone (apart from my Mom) know how? Aldous might be spinning in his grave, but the West's move towards riches and away from stitches is a matter of basic economics. Who could make a living mending clothes in the U.S. these days? One would have to charge at least the price of a new pair of shorts just to cover the overhead. Even here, $1.25 doesn't go too far (for example, enough to buy me lunch, or fixings enough for two meals if I cook for myself), but is a fair rate for what was probably less than 30 minutes of work. Factor in the five or six other items the seamstress was working on, plus the additional laundry business that is likely pulled in, and you're looking at a respectable daily wage, especially by low-season standards. Of course, you might argue there's more than $1.25 worth of thread in my shorts.

Lest you think I can't throw anything away, I'll tell you that I've assembled a rather large pile of t-shirts and underwear that will not be returning with me to the States. I plan a small bonfire (a pyre, if you will) for what -- after 15 years in the case of one shirt, 14 years in the case of four others, and 10 years in the case of two boxer shorts -- have been reduced to absolute rags.