This diatribe is dedicated to my editor Liz “Lola Canola” Wells, with love and thanks from Craig “Jurgen Sorghum” and in memory of our crop reporting days.
1. BEVERLY ‘S HILL
This week’s million dollar question: Why can’t travel writers and television hosts show a little more imagination and resist the compulsion to compare places in Asia with destinations, streets or cities in the “developed’ world? Why, why, why, I ask you? It’s irritating, irksome, idiotic and it really gets my goat.
While I’m no stranger to idiocy – especially after a bottle or two of Sauvignon Plonk -- I’m not easily irked. Ask anyone. And so what if my irritation springs partly from the fact I've been guilty of such lazy journalism myself.
I was peeved to read in an in-flight magazine recently that Macau is the “Vegas of the Far East.” Please.
Singapore, unbelievably, was described on a shallow travel show as “a much larger version of New York’s China Town, only cleaner.”
And “Sisowath Quay in the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh is the 'Promenade de Anglais' of this impoverished former French colony. But it would be wise not to stray too far from it if you value your safety,” warned a London newspaper. Dear oh dear.
On that note, I was astonished to learn from CNN and the New York Times that Thonglor, the street on which I live, is apparently “widely known as the Beverly Hills of Bangkok.” Widely known by whom? The International Association of Travel Writers? The Foundation for TV cliché speak? It’s certainly news to me.
Granted, parts of it are glamorous, grandiose, egregious and obscenely expensive, but Beverly Hills?
I only ever visited L.A.’s suburb of choice for the rich and famous once. And that was quite a few years ago. But I don’t recall seeing kamikaze motorcycle taxi drivers wired on Red Bull charging full throttle down pavements. Nor did I notice pushcart peddlers selling fried grasshoppers and dried squid, blind singing beggars with strap-on portable sound systems, open drains, or plastic bags, used condoms and the occasional dead dog floating down putrid canals.
The bridal shop mannequins all had heads in Beverly Hills and were draped in more tasteful garments, the stores were unimaginatively named. There was not a House of Cheesecake, a Superstar Academy, a Marry Me Baby, a Balloons or Bust, a Mr. Bag Fix-It, Mrs. Smiley Face Happy Dentist or a Botoxilicious sign in sight.
Beverly Hills felt characterless and unwelcoming, its residents hermetically sealed in their mansions behind security gates in pristine, palm tree-lined but people-less streets -- at least in the residential zones.
Thonglor could never be described as pristine, we don’t have many trees and zoning, much like pedestrian crossings, never really caught on.
But my road, which connects Sukhumvit and Petchburi Roads, is teaming with people
The street life, which characterizes Bangkok, has survived despite the city’s relentless pursuit of modernity.
A block down from my apartment, a woman with an ancient Singer sewing machine sits in front of a luxury 30-floor condo mending shirts, socks and zippers for $1 a piece. A man in a cowboy hat rides his three-wheeled bicycle up and down the street selling brooms and mops, competing for road space with SUVs, Mercedes and BMWs.
Down at the intersection, Miss Noi sits in the same spot she has occupied for 30 years, threading jasmine onto intricate Buddhist garlands and selling orchids as the ultra-modern Skytrain zooms overhead.
On Thonglor, street sweepers, candy floss men, motorcycle taxis, sticky rice stands and hundreds of hole-in-the-wall eateries co-exist with upscale bridal salons, Botox clinics, modern malls, Porsche showrooms, five star hotels, chic boutiques and trendy bars catering to Thai and foreign clubbers with pockets full of cash.
That’s why I love it. It’s loud, lurid, frustrating and fabulous, but its quintessentially Bangkok, not Beverly Bloody Hills.
Still, if the name catches on, I’m sure we’ll all go with it. Bangkokians are nothing, if not adaptable and faddish.
The local authority will more than likely erect a grammatically flawed sign, down near “The Trendiest Condominium in the World”, welcoming people to Thonglor "Beverly's Hill of Bangkok."
I worry, though, that if Thonglor is officially renamed Beverly’s Hill, does that make its residents, including myself, Beverly’s Hillbillies?
Should my friend Stu and I consider changing the name of our hugely successful cover band the Petburi Shop Boys to the Clampert Family Singers?
And should I send my dear maid Sanom out shootin’ at some food?
To be fair, Bangkok means different things to different folk. It is a difficult place to capture on paper or on TV and so sprawling, diverse and ever-changing that making sense of it can be daunting.
The myriad of books, both travel guides and fiction, even the odd song portray varying versions of the so-called City of Angels. Fair enough given people have hugely different perceptions of the city, but some verge on ludicrous.
Bangkok, if you believe the locally published foreign male authors commonly referred to as the sexpats – is a dark, dangerous place where pole dancing sirens slither like snakes in seedy sex clubs; evil lady boy lure unsuspecting tourists to love motels for trysts before drugging them and making off with all their worldly possessions and hitmen disguised as blind street food sellers lurk on every corner, ready to mow you down if you’ve had a falling out with the mamasan or fled without paying your bar tab.
I’ve been here for 20 years and have yet to encounter a hitman, let alone one in dark glasses selling fish balls on a stick.
Yes, Bangkok was once famous for its sex, sin and sleaze -- a paradise for men who couldn’t get laid elsewhere but who, for a few thousand Baht, could have booby babes swarming all over their big bellies and more blow jobs than you could poke a stick at.
As Murray Head sang, or rather spoke to musical accompaniment: “One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble, not much between despair and ecstasy.”
But the red light areas are pretty tame these days and make up only a small part of the vibrant nightlife.
Foreigners have been coming here for years. Thais are used to us, our large sweat-soaked bodies, our loud voices and cultural insensitivities. They take it with a grain of salt and their characteristic good humor.
Yet some of the guidebooks don’t seem to grasp this, devoting entire chapters to the "DOs and DON'Ts" in the Land of Smiles.
Particularly offensive, according to one popular tourist bible, is leaving your chopsticks in a vertical position on top of leftover rice on your plate – who would even think of doing this? – and pointing your feet at Thai people is grossly unacceptable, likely to invoke centuries of bad Karma and a possible jail sentence for offenders.
“Always eat with a spoon,” it trumpets in rule 603. “Under no circumstances should a fork make contact with your mouth.” My Thai friends think this one, in particular, is hilarious.
A few years back a new breed of expat writer sprung up amid much fanfare – the women’s literary group. Its purpose, I gather, was to give foreign women a voice, present their impressions of Bangkok and counter sexpat's slanted views.
This seemed like a good idea in theory until their book came out.
Unfortunately, if the first few short stories are any indication, they don’t seem to have much of an impression of Bangkok or anything of substance to say.
“When friends and family back home ask me why of all of places (sic) I ended up in Bangkok in steamy Southeast Asia, I tell them I really have no idea. Who ever knows these things? Riveting.
Some other women writers go with the “I love this Land and its Peoples” line, effusively praising the Thai “peoples” who are full of “charm, grace and always smiling.” These authors are obviously still in the initial love affair phase of life in Bangkok, when everything is new and exotic, cheap domestic help is readily at hand and the Chamber of Commerce costume balls are a hoot.
This phase often ends with a thud as adoration turns to frustration, then hatred, before they run screaming for the next plane to Sydney, London or Milwaukee vowing never to set foot in this “hellhole” again.
Or at least the wife does. And it's often because the husband, be he investment banker, CEO or foreign correspondent, has left her for a local lass and moved upcountry where he is forking out for 3 new buffalo, paying for grandma's cataract operation and playing an instrumental, albeit costly role in the installation of a new village irrigation system.
And that's not fiction. It's a fact of life in big bad Bangkok, even in posh Beverly's Hill.
2. VERY THAI
Fortunately these amateur scribes, be them sexpat or whoever, although prolific in output, do not monopolize the English language literature market.
There are a hand full of excellent and professional expat writers here who brilliantly the essence of Thailand and its capital, its quirks, cultural conundrums and idiosyncrasies.
Two of them immediately spring to mind and not just because they are my friends. (Darlings, I mix in elite A-list literary circles -- not that you’d know it from reading this blog).
Philip Cornwel-Smith, who I have known for 18 years, is the author of the deservedly best-selling Very Thai – Every Day Popular Culture, which has been translated into numerous languages and has not been out of print since it first hit the stores in 2005. It is among the best books ever written about Thailand.
Phil doesn’t waste time on facts, figures, customs procedures or cultural faux pas.
He hits the streets.
In vignettes like “Dinner on a Stick” and “Drink in a Bag”, he entertainingly explores the street food culture pervasive in Thailand, among many other things. His Bangkok is a colorful kaleidoscope of sounds, smells and glimpses of everyday goings on.
“Day-glo paintings of village huts zoom by on mini-buses. Overloaded broom carts bristle like a roadside art installation. Vendors sell multi-bladed knuckle-dusters off souvenir stalls. Rubber tyres get recycled into lotus ponds,” he writes.
Phil’s book is an insightful insider’s look at the quirky, the ordinary, the strange, the plain, in fact the things that make Thailand tick.
Phil won’t tell you where to buy the best fake designer handbag.
He delves into the curious, answering with abundant wit, the questions on many visitors’ lips: Why is Thai society women’s hair so huge? How come napkins are tiny and pink? Where do so many lady boys come from? What made Thai cat tails bent? Was that shop really called Porn Gems? “It’s, well….very Thai.” It’s also very funny and very, very good. He’s currently working on Very Bangkok, which it’s safe to say will also be a winner.
Andrew Biggs is the most famous foreigner in Thailand and one of my closest mates.
Fluent in Thai, he shot to stardom on local TV and now writes an entertaining weekly column in the Bangkok Post's Sunday Brunch magazine, among a zillion other things.
His witty prose urges foreigners not to take offense when Thais tell them they are fat -- it's not an insult, explains language and linguistic differences, and is not averse to sending up some of the sillier aspects of life in Bangkok including irritating whistle-blowing security guards and incompetent department store sock section staff.
Thais have always referred to us foreigners, often to our faces, as farang, which actually means "foreigner" but which, for some reason still riles many an expat.
"This is an issue that plunges deep into the hearts of Westerners who are still in their first, second, third years of living in Thailand.....," wrote Andrew recently. "I don't want to sound like an old fogey but the more you stay, the more the 'sting' of 'farang' starts to lessen."
Tew Bunnag is a Thai-born author who grew up in the West. Although fluent in Thai, he writes mainly in English.
Tew has penned a number of books, my favorite of which is Fragile Days – Tales from Bangkok, a city on the Edge.
In this collection of short stories, written with flair and irony, Tew delves into the lives of a wide cross-section of Thai society.
In one of the more memorable stories, a wealthy high-society woman stares out of the tinted window of her limo at itinerant workers on a construction site who hammer, sand, saw and lift concrete in 40 degree noon heat for 120 Baht ($4) a day.
In another, an ambitious real estate broker’s attempts at selling a new McMansion -- which replaced a traditional wooden house that once stood on the land – are repeatedly thwarted when the ghost of an elderly lady from decades past keeps materializing on the staircase, sending potential buyers fleeing in terror.
Urban decay, moral decline and the demise of the traditional at the expense of material gain dominate his fiction, but so does humor. His Bangkok is a spectacular mess, a monstrosity of noise, pollution, concrete and corruption.
"Beneath the apparently passive fun-loving surface lurks another city that reveals itself through its back alleys and its underground, threatening its social order," wrote one reviewer.
While many people would abhor such a city, "those who stay know they are home, caught in a madness that reflects their own," says Tew.
To those of us who did stay, who have made Bangkok our home, cheers to Tew and here's to embracing madness, I say.
And finally, from talented authors to respected film -makers, and yes, it’s another plug for another friend. Isn't that what blogs are for?
On a sweltering day around 19 years ago, I was sitting in a drab office of a government-run TV station rewriting nonsensical scripts into understandable English for a show called “Good Morning Thailand”, my first job upon moving here, unaware my life was about to change forever.
Suddenly a loud woman in khaki pants and hiking boots came barreling through the door
“Hello, my name is Jeanne Hallacy, I’ve just come back from the Thai-Burma border where I’ve been making a documentary about the plight of refugees. You might be interested in featuring the first five minutes on you show,” she said.
It was to mark the start of an occasional professional collaboration, but moreover a tumultuous friendship which has endured to this day.
We did show her film -- Jeanne can be very persuasive -- and shortly afterwards I came on board as associate producer. After a stint back in the States, Jeanne and I shared a flat overlooking a swamp in the bowels of Prakanong, before moving to a large concrete house, with a Brady Bunch staircase, in Soi 39. Now she lives next door to me.
It was my first experience in documentary making and the frustrations of raising money, generating interest and getting the bloody thing made, which at one pointed I seriously thought would never happen.
But thanks to Jeanne’s tenacity, perserverence and professionalism it did get made, garnering widespread critical acclaim, a couple of awards and a TV showing. It was called Burma Diary.
While I opted for the safer route, making among other things well-funded films for agencies including the U.N, Jeanne remained independent.
She has made several other films and is currently in North America touring with her latest work Into the Current, described as "one of the most important films made about human rights violations in Burma."
It has been widely praised by international parliamentarians, human rights advocates, civil society and general audiences.
Jeanne, as usual, worked her ass off to get the film made, and, as usual, on a shoestring budget.
Please support it. The links are below. Tell your friends about it, join its Facebook page, Google it, spread the word.
With Burma allegedly beginning to open up and elections scheduled for next month, Jeanne's film, about the plight of political prisoners in this still-totalitarian state, is more relevant than ever.
And on a personal note, it is a heartfelt piece by a dear friend who has supported me through some of the most difficult periods in my life and, who I know, will always be there for me.
