You know you’ve been an expat too long when you can’t think of anything to blog about, that you would have in common people back home. At least, that’s how it sometimes feels. At other times, you know you’ve been in Thailand too long when you can’t think of anything serious to write about, or [...]
CHIANGMAI, Thailand – 25 September 2005
Have you ever taken part in a conversation that draws its focus from the truly important minutia of daily living? If not, then some would say you are not yet qualified to enter the ranks of the higher expatriates.
Such actions and decisions become the behavioural guiding light of certain expatriate classes, the ones who having discovered your new desire to reside in The Rose will gravely warn you that, If you have not heard a good rumour by ten in the morning, invent one…
Christmas is Coming
CHIANG MAI, Thailand – 10 November 2002
Christmas is coming,
The goose is getting fat,
It’s time to stop the salads,
And give up on khao phat.
And of course, it’s time to drag out the tree, find a fairy, and polish your baubles (stop it – you know what I mean).
I Remember it Well ….
The Strengths of the Animals
It’s strange the conversations that one gets into when sitting in an expatriate watering hole.
CHIANG MAI, Thailand – 7 May 2002 – Not so long ago a bunch of us were sitting around glugging our favourite nectars (Diet Coke with lots of ice for the teetotal in 2002 me), when the subject turned to the comments that tourists make when visiting our adopted home city.
Lots of anecdotes came forward, many unprintable here, but also some wisdoms of the aged, imparted with the best of intentions, and which remain salutary lessons to us all. Here is one of my favourites….
A long, long time ago, in a restaurant not far, far away (apologies to Star Wars) a small group of British backpackers were in conversation with the owner of the hostelry. This was just before the (first) end of the last Millennium and a new beer had arrived on the market.
Windowsills
CHIANG MAI, Thailand – 1 May 2002 - “Windowsills”, said the bearded one with much emphasis and reminiscent tones into the open top of his Carlsberg bottle, which had paused midway between table and mouth. The action, being an event of much significance amongst our small band of imbibers, riveted our attention. An event of such significance was so rarely seen that we also had to consider the utterance.
“Windowsills” we all mused. “What could he be considering?”
“Windowsills”, he repeated, “are wonderful things and you don’t see them in this country.” Then the green bottle completed it’s journey.
We considered the observation until the almost bald one admitted, “He’s finally flipped, the beer that refreshes parts that others don’t, has done the opposite to him.”
