Tourists

I was born in Thailand, up at Udorn in 1955. My father had flown for General Claire Chennault's Flying Tigers during the Kuomintang's struggle against the Japanese occupation of China. Later he joined Air America as a contract pilot, based at Udorn, and flying ‘hard rice’ into Laos to fuel the CIA's proxy armies there, fighting against the Pathet Lao. He brought my mother across from the States to set up a permanent home, and she worked part-time for the conflicting interests of I.V.S. Aid, even after I was born.

I grew up around pilots and aircraft, listening avidly to the tales of derring-do, and of their exploits and high adventures in those clandestine wars. Of opium barons and tribal warlords, and the covert flights into Vietnam long before U.S. military involvement in that country became a press-related truth.

My education was administered at the International School in Bangkok, and I yearned for week-ends and holidays so I could be back in Udorn - around aeroplanes, and their promiscuous pilots once again.

When it came time for me to attend college, I was reluctantly exiled to the States. Centring my studies on the subjects of mathematics, navigation and cartography, I also achieved fixed-wing and helicopter licences from my extra-curriculum studies at week-ends.
Once my mandatory college requirements were fulfilled, I returned to Thailand. Bearing dual nationality, I had no problems in securing lucrative employment with Dusit Thani air cargo transport. They operated out of Bangkok with a variety of aircraft and helicopters.

When the oil boom came to Thailand, with big finds in the Gulf of Siam, our fleet of helicopters was expanded and carried out regular flights to the offshore rigs and production platforms. Having Thai citizenship, and speaking the language fluently, assured me of regular employment. I became a sought-after commodity by various oil companies for their ventures in Thailand.

I was based out at Dom Muang Airport, and kept an apartment in Bangkok, but loved to travel to the reclusive and unpolluted beaches of Loem Riu whenever my leave schedule permitted. The once-beautiful beaches of Pattaya and Phuket had turned into thriving centres of tourism during those past few years, and held no attraction for me anymore.
Perhaps they could be compared to Coney Island on American Labour Day, their beaches were filled with tourists, and the inevitable litter, all year round. A sad pity, but who cares about the environment when there's money to be made?

I'd captained two flights out to the production platforms in the Gulf one particular day, ferrying passengers and cargo back and forth in a B212 chopper. After fighting the traffic into the city that afternoon in my car, I showered and changed at my apartment, then headed out to the bright lights of Sukumvit Road. Parking in the quiet confines of an adjacent Soi, I walked across to the Cock and Bull Restaurant. As I approached, I noticed a blonde Caucasian girl outside peering pensively through the window, and around the open door.

"Excuse me,' I asked, 'may I be of assistance?” She turned, and looked relieved to see the close presence of an English-speaking fellow Caucasian.

'I don't know if I'm lost, or if the taxi driver has dropped me in the wrong place,' she related. 'My tourist guidebook says there's a pub here with dart boards, but all I can see is this dimly-lit restaurant.'

'Ah', I said, 'you're looking for the Joker Club, yes?'

'That's right, but it looks as though it's closed down and reopened as a restaurant,' she replied.

'Not quite,' I informed her. 'Come on, I'll be your guide and lead you into salvation.'

She laughed at my dialogue, and followed me into the Cock and Bull. I led her up the obscured stairs to the Joker Club, resplendent with its side room of well-lighted dart boards.

'This is what you were looking for, I take it, Miss Pretty Australian tourist?' I questioned in jest.

'Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Kathy. Is it that obvious I'm Australian 'and' a tourist?'

I smiled widely, and told her the answer to both her questions was a definite yes. 'My name's Peter Greenfield,' I related, shaking her hand as way of introduction.

'And I'm Kathy Meadows,' she laughed. 'We should make a good pair with surnames like ours.'

We settled at the bar and I ordered drinks. Chatting non-stop for an hour, we finally rose and played most of the evening away on the dart boards. She was a practiced player, from the Perth Women's League she informed me, and gave as good as she got during our matches of three-o-one. Again we retired to the questionable comfort of the bar stools once our dart games were over.

Kathy was there on holiday with her parents - the first time outside Australia for any of them. Her parents were still busy doing the inevitable rounds of the temples, palaces, ruins, and other worthwhile tourist sights. But Kathy had grown weary, truly footsore, and wanted to opt out for the quiet sunshine of the famed beaches. She had put the suggestion to her mother, but it was met with reproachful cautions. 'Thailand was no place for a twenty year-old white girl to be wandering around by herself. Especially the beaches, with their hippie drug addicts.'

They had been in Bangkok for a week already, and had another three weeks to go. Kathy doubted her sanity if she was dragged round one more temple, or palace, or ancient ruin.

Her parents had won a sweepstake in Perth, a substantial amount really. After renewing the family car, and re-furnishing their modest suburban home, they decided to engage on the holiday of a lifetime with the hefty residue of their winnings - to the exotic and mysterious beaches of the fabled Siam.

Kathy worked as a dispatch clerk for a road haulage company in Perth, and wasn't very worldly at all. Thus she was fascinated by my own life's story, and my occupation. I ordered drinks and bar snacks in Thai for her, and quickly taught her the rudimentary pleasantries of the language. Mainly to further impress her, I suppose.

We parted very amicably that first evening, with me dropping her off at their hotel on Suriwongse Road. A joy, she related, to sit in a private car again: instead of one of Bangkok's renowned bone-shaker taxis. Obviously I suggested we meet the next evening and she eagerly agreed – so we decided to rendezvous at the Joker Club for a drink and darts before I took her to dinner.

When I reported for flight duty the following morning, out at Dom Muang, I requested a leave of three weeks commencing that afternoon. I had over forty days of leave stacked and due to me, and there were no problems rescheduling my flights for the remainder of that week. We were a flexible crew, and helped each other out whenever the need arose.

That evening, I told Kathy of my intention to take leave, and asked if I could be her tourist guide. Show her the sights that normal tourists remain ignorant of, and rarely get to see.

We made provisional arrangements that I would pick her up outside the Montien Hotel at nine o'clock the next morning - if her parents were willing to entrust their daughter's safety to an unvetted stranger. They were very set in their ways, she informed me.

Yet the following morning, I drove onto the Montien's forecourt at eight-fifty-five, and there she was waiting. All smiles, and looking buxom and healthy. There were no problems with her parents, she related, as long as she was back at the hotel each night.

Over the next few days we toured the sprawl of Bangkok and it's outlying districts. I took her to the best restaurants for Thai food, exotically planted beer gardens, resplendent with flora and shade; and to the best discos and club cabaret shows. She had read of Pattaya and Phuket, and their beaches, but was quite amazed at my low opinions of them. She was doubly amazed that I knew of beaches that tourists never reached. Where cottages could be rented on the sea's edge, overlooking crystal waters, and backed by lush, natural forest. Beaches of white shell sand where cowries lay undisturbed after the tide's retreat.

Yes, she was eager and willing to accompany me there for a week, perhaps longer. But the consent of her parents must be obtained first. That night she broached the subject with them, and the next morning informed me of their decision. They wanted to meet me, and check that I was the reasonable individual their daughter assured them.
Not a hippie reeking of alcohol and marijuana - nor wearing hair down to my collar. And were my intentions towards their only daughter honourable? As Kathy had said before, they were very set in their ways.

I agreed with her request to meet with them. Arrangements were made through Kathy that we all should gather at the cool, shady beer garden and restaurant on Soi Nana Tai for lunch, where I had dined with her a couple of evenings previously. The time was set for noon, and Kathy apologised if she were a little late as she had an appointment with the hotel's coiffeur that next day at ten-thirty.
But, she told me to dress smartly, and make a good impression when she introduced me to her parents.
I was becoming quite smitted with her, and felt she too harboured similar feelings for me. Well, even at the advanced age of thirty-one, a guy can still fall in love, I suppose.

At eleven-thirty the next morning I sat myself down in the Chandri Beer Garden, and ordered an ice-cold shandy. It was pretty quiet, the usual lunch-time crowd had not yet materialised. One or two ex-pat' bar flies hung around, and a couple of tourists wandered in just after me. They came and sat at the table adjacent to mine, below a huge Paradise Palm, and ordered their drinks.

I was deep in thoughts about Kathy, and our hoped-for trip down to Loem Riu, when my ears pricked up at the neighbouring couple's conversation.

'Did you see that waiter's fingernails? They were filthy. Make sure you wipe your glass before you drink out of it, Edward,' the wife of the party stated loudly. 'My God, do these people never wash at all?'

Now, nothing gets my back up more than tourists coming to a foreign country to find fault. Perhaps I am a bit excessively pro-Thai, being born there, and living most of my life with the indigenous peoples. But they're a very religious and gentle folk, and scrupulously clean in their habits and attire. There are very few exceptions to this rule.

'Edward,' she moaned, ' there are ants dropping on me from the tree. Ugh! Let's move to another table.'

They rose with obvious disdain on their faces. I called 'Come and sit here, where the ants won't bother you.' Time for my favourite sport of tourist baiting, it they would take the bait,

'You're English, aren't you?' The woman asked as they approached my table. 'You're accent's very strange.'

'Ah, I've worked with such a mixed community of English-speaking internationals for so long, I don't know myself what accent I affect anymore. But no, I'm an American.'

'My, that is gratifying,' she replied. 'All we've met since we arrived are people who can't speak English, and go out of their way to be rude to you. The staff serving in the shops here talk about you to the other assistants, and you can tell by their eyes and looks that they're saying something nasty.'

I smiled inwardly as I spoke. 'Don't you think that is a little paranoid? The Thais are a civil race, and very polite. They only get annoyed when someone upsets them. I agree, you'll find a minimum of English spoken here, but does anyone speak Thai in your country?'

'Well, of course not. We all speak English. And they should too if they come to our country.' she informed me pointedly. What a prime example of narrow-minded bigotry this perspiring fat lump of humanity was.

'Then by the same rule, you should speak Thai when you visit their country,' I replied.

'Don't be ridiculous,' the husband of the party rejoined, 'we're tourists here.
They should speak English to accommodate us.'

'And if they came to your country as tourists, would you speak Thai to accommodate them?' I inquired.

'Of course not - English is the international language now, and all these backward Asian countries should learn it. They all want to be a part of civilisation, but none of them are prepared to make the slightest effort to improve themselves,' he expounded.

'You seem to forget that Thailand, or Siam if you like, had an established civilisation and culture while the same English-speaking peoples you're elevating ran around in furs, painting themselves with woad. Perhaps if enough English-speaking people came here on vacation, then the language might catch on. In Pattaya, a lot of locals speak German due to the high influx of tourists from there,' I bantered.

The waiter eventually brought their drinks, to a reception devoid of 'thank you's', and set them down on the table.

'Take the ice out of your glass, Edward.' the wife warned. 'Remember what that nice Mr. Glessing told us last night about them making it from canal water here. It's a wonder we haven't been poisoned.

He tried awkwardly to extricate the ice cubes from his tall glass, as I leaned back in my chair and laughed.

'And what do you find so amusing?' He inquired.

'Just your obvious ignorance to the customs of everyday life of a country you invite yourselves as tourist,' I replied. 'The water doesn't come out of the klongs, it's made under sanitary conditions. In fact, a new ice factory has just opened less than a kilometre from here, and is quite likely this beer garden's current supplier.'

'You don't think very much of we tourists, do you lad?' He voiced aggressively.

'I've no problems with tourists whatever,' I answered, 'so long as they realise they're in another person’s country and respect their cultures and values. The only tourists I take exception to, and frown upon, are those such as yourselves. The ones who take great enjoyment in finding fault where none truly exists. If you want to be obnoxious and rude, then stay in your own country.'

I rose from my chair intending to move to the other side of the gardens. Baiting two such obvious mental weaklings was no true sport.

'And after this trip we intend to,' he said, his face growing dark red with anger. 'Another two weeks and we'll be back home in Perth, and real civilisation: if not before.'

My mind's gearbox suddenly shifted cogs. Then I felt hands fall on my shoulders from behind.

'Hello,' said Kathy. 'The hairdresser took me in early. I see you've met my parents already Peter. Are you all getting along okay?'