Sleepless in Bangkok Read online

  Not that Steven looked the officer type, he was far too casual for that. Although he had enjoyed life in the British military’s fast lane, formality and pretension were not to his taste. As formality and pretention had been a tradition in the British armed forces since time began kept the masses in order, dontcha know - Steven had not really fitted in.

  [*]. Lao, as in ‘how’ or ‘now’, is the way the country’s name is pronounced and spelt in South East Asia. Laos is a colonial pronunciation and spelling. Former sleaze and bar girl scene reviewer from the USA, Bernard Trink, whose column was discontinued in the Bangkok Post when he was effectively sacked, may know a lot about bar girls but knows little about Lao. Not even the country’s correct indigenous name. He should check his facts fully and visit the country before dismissing the work of more knowledgable writers on the subject. His published comment on this matter was yet another example of arrogance and ignorance combined, emanating from the American colonial approach to the world outside of North America. Dinosaurs.

  2

  AFinger Up The Nose

  Except for one slightly built Thai clerk standing in the background, the check-in desk was deserted. Clearly on another planet, he gazed into the distance. Lower down the pecking order, this favourite Thai pastime would often be accompanied by a finger up the nose.

  Not wishing to be too judgemental, aware that this almost in-utero distraction provided a momentary refuge from the hussle and hassle of mai sanook areas of life, Steven spoke in Thai to gain the young man’s attention.

  “Sawasdi don chow.” Good morning. Returning to the present, the Thai check-in clerk walked forward to assist.

  Not wanting to take any chances with the almost pristine state of his much travelled passport, Steven looked down at the young man’s hands. Satisfied no bogey (booger) picking, finger licking, nasal cleansing activity had recently been on the agenda, he passed his travel documents across the desk.

  “You are the last passenger to check in,” the young man casually advised, trying to put Steven at ease. But his well intentioned words only managed to raise Steven’s adrenaline level for a few seconds - Thai people’s general lack of left-brain, forward thinking cognitive ability managing to achieve the opposite of what was intended!

  “Do you have any baggage, sir?” the young clerk enquired.

  “Hand luggage only,” Steven replied, having gone through the routine too many times to think about

  “That is fortunate, it is too late for anything larger! Royal Thai Airlines is a no smoking carrier,” the young clerk stated as he handed Steven his passport, ticket stub and boarding card.

  “There is a slight delay. If you proceed quickly through security and passport control, you should make it OK. Thai time,” he said with a smile, aware from the many visa stamps in Steven’s ultra-thick passport, that he had been a regular traveller to South East Asia and the Land of Smiles.

  3

  More Than My Jobsworth

  Despite a complete lack of tourist paraphernalia, the security screen buzzed conspicuously as Steven walked through.

  Two heavily built guards instantly viewed the fitlooking traveller as a potential terrorist, and walked forward to bar the way.

  Their instincts were on track, as Steven had carved a career in the covert craft for the bulk of his working life. Albeit, ostensibly on the side of right - the British Government. Although for quite some time he had not been quite so sure - about who was right.

  “Just an Ipod. Can’t stand canned music on planes,” Steven casually observed as he slowly withdrew a minuscule music maker from his pocket and handed it to the younger of the nervous guards. Tired, Steven had forgotten to remove it before passing through security.

  “Only doing our job, sir.” Clearly an NCO at one time, the senior guard excused his actions utilising the standard British jobsworth defence.

  Sensing the fit looking traveller was ex-military, the older security guard showed deference and respect. A former corporal, his intuition advised that Steven had once carried rank. In fact Steven almost expected him to salute.

  Proceeding through the electronic archway, this time it did not react. Looking relieved, the senior security guard did actually salute. Steven returned the deferential gesture with a nod.

  Making his way past the avenue of duty free shops in the direction of his boarding gate, the irrelevancies of life cluttered Steven’s not fully functioning mind. It was still only 7:45 in the morning, much too early to be up and at it.

  Steven made a habit of staying up most of the night before a long flight, working on the theory that if he was shattered by the time he reached the airport, he’d avoid the boredom and discomfort of the journey by sleeping through the whole thing. The effects of jet lag were minimised as a result. Having worked till two a.m. he’d watched a late-night movie on TV.

  A movie he’d first seen as a kid, the impact it had on the seven-year-old did not re-occur. But what could he expect, he was now well into his fifties. Dozing off during the badly dubbed, sword and sandals epic from the Steve Reeves era, he’d woken up with just enough time to reach the airport before his plane departed. Unshaven and shattered, a good long kip (sleep) would be a certainty now.

  Reaching the end of the long airport walkway, where the Royal Thai Airways plane stood waiting to commence its journey to Siam, Steven’s lack of energy contradicted the young guy inside.

  As he stood at the check-in entrance to the lounge separating the airport building from the walkway to the plane, a young male flight attendant quickly checked Steven’s ticket and boarding pass. “You are lucky,” he said. “The flight to Bangkok has been delayed. You are the last passenger to board.”

  “So I’m just in time thanks to Thai-time,” Steven replied.

  The boarding clerk smiled. “I can tell you have been in Thailand before, sir.”

  4

  Testosterone

  The moment Steven saw the raven haired young Thai stewardess standing at the entrance to the plane, his vigour returned. Testosterone is such a wonderful thing.

  Steven had always had a penchant for slim, dark haired girls - the way his mother looked. The young flight attendant qualified. Psychologists say men instinctively seek a mate resembling their mere [*]. Albeit, his mother’s exotic looks emanated from her French descent. However, it had long been rumoured there was Chinese blood way, way back in his family line.

  Thai stewardesses are soft and feminine looking, nothing Women’s Lib or KLM about those attractive creatures [**]. This could be explained in part by the fact that at the Bangkok offices of Royal Thai Airways, it was unofficial policy to transfer female cabin staff to airport-bound desk jobs as soon as they looked tired at the edges. If their aircraft were full of matronly hags in figure-hugging uniforms on bodies well past their sellby-date, business would almost certainly suffer. Not politically correct by Western standards, but in Thailand money was all.

  Even by Thai standards though, this flight attendant was exceptional. With classical high cheek bones and light skinned features, the young woman was stunning. Further blessed, she had an exquisitely feminine voice - cultured English with a melodic, Oriental flavour. She made the average Western woman sound uneducated and look crude.

  Steven broke a cardinal Thai rule by staring for longer than was considered polite in the Land of Smiles.

  Dipping her head to offer the traditional Thai greeting - a respectful, hands clasped together wai the young flight attendant sought refuge from Steven’s gaze.

  “Welcome to Royal Thai Airways, sir. We hope you will enjoy your flight,” she said, delicately.

  [*] Mere is the French word for mother.

  [**]. Any male who has travelled KLM, would be

  aware that Dutch stewardesses are usually six feet tall,

  as wide as the aircraft aisle, carry quite a lot of excess

  baggage, and make the matron at your very strict boarding school seem like an angel of mercy. Eat up all of

&n
bsp; your food or you’ll get a very hard spanking. OK if you

  like that sort of thing.

  5

  Come Inside Please

  “Come inside please,” (usually pronounced “Crum inslide prees,”) [*] crossed Steven’s mind as he followed the young flight attendant to his business-class seat.

  These words would be heard continuously in Thailand, as every enterprise from department store to go-go bar, did their utmost to persuade the passer-by to sample their wares. Steven had not even left British soil yet, but the sight of the young flight attendant’s adolescent sized butt, tightly encased in a Thai silk stewardesses uniform, had already taken him to Siam.

  Perhaps the young flight attendant would invite him to come inside a smaller dark place where she had jurisdiction. Nothing was impossible in Thailand, a location that, where there were rules, they were continuously adapted to suit the circumstances.

  “May I place your document case in the overhead luggage compartment?” the young woman courteously enquired.

  Having broken one cardinal Thai custom - staring at the young flight attendant for longer than was considered polite - he did not wish to break another by making her lose face. So Steven refused as considerately as he knew how, aware that even the most subtle of face losing situations would be exquisitely returned via nondescript service throughout the flight. Worse if the insult was considered more serious. So he smiled and explained he wished to work, and would leave his case on the seat beside him.

  Thai time delayed the aircraft’s departure by a further twenty minutes, and just as some Australian passengers started to whinge and complain, it taxied along the frosty runway and thundered into the grey London skies.

  Finally on his way to South East Asia, Steven switched off his reading lamp, covered himself with a blanket, curled up in the foetal position, and settled down to a welcome sleep.

  [*] Thai people have trouble pronouncing the letters ‘r’ and ‘l’. They often substitute one for the other.

  6

  Half Cocked

  It was seven hours before the undercarriage hit the tarmac of New Delhi airport. “There will be a stop over of approximately one hour at New Delhi Airport.,” a soft, reassuring female voice said over the aircraft PA. “Will passengers not completing their journey here please keep their seats until departing passengers have left the aircraft. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Another seven hours before Bangkok. British civil servants can’t even book a flight properly.,” Steven said to himself before silently explored his vocabulary of military expletives - at not being able to obtain a direct flight to Thailand. Calming down, he attempted to engender some Zen-type Buddhist mindfulness.

  Western versus Eastern thinking patterns had carried on a continuing dialogue in Steven’s psyche, since discovering Oriental philosophies at the start of his military career. They had irrevocably influenced his outlook ever since. But Steven knew he was far from being in the Eastern driver’s seat for much of the time.

  Passengers of Indian ancestry trudged slowly through the aisles towards the exits. Weighed down with carrier bags full of expensive Western consumer goods high-tech items not readily available without enormous import duties in the Indian subcontinent - British stores had benefited at the expense of their Indian counterparts. But economic aid made up the difference, so the British taxpayer still lost out.

  Aching and stiff, sleep in a semi-upright seat even in first or business class, was considerably less than perfect. Wishing the journey was already over, Steven waited for the line of Indians to leave before standing up to stretch his legs. After a few isometrics to get his body working again, he took a slow walk down the now empty aisle. Reaching the open door of the air conditioned cabin, the hot and humid atmosphere hit him in the face. As further sensory introduction to India, a mix of aircraft fuel and jasmine blossom meandered into his nostrils.

  On the ground below the stationary aircraft, baggage wagons and catering trucks plied their way between the aircraft and the terminal buildings. Like mechanical caterpillars, they carved a miscellany of trajectories in front of and around the lines of passengers trudging across the shimmering tarmac.

  To create commotion inside the aircraft, a team of dark skinned cleaners appeared. Some with turbans some without, they commenced a halfhearted effort at tidying up before mid-flight passengers came aboard.

  “Halfway there,” Steven thought, the more positive sector of his brain gaining dominance. “Let’s hope there’s a decent in-flight movie I haven’t seen on the last leg to Bangkok.”

  Half turning, Steven saw the young flight attendant he’d stared at for too long when he’d belatedly arrived on board. After she’d served his meal, he’d not seen her since. Perhaps it was because he’d slept the whole time. On the other hand, maybe she was the captain’s in-flight favourite, and while the plane was on autopilot, had been initiated into the mile-high-club or renewed her membership. The tedium of the only half complete journey caused Steven to explore some offbeat precepts.

  Thai girls could be as free and innocent with their favours as Polynesian maidens in the days of the Bounty. They could also be as strict as a Sunday school teacher in the US Bible Belt. Much would depend upon the degree of social exposure to Europeans they had encountered. If from a more modern, Bangkok orientated environment, the girl would probably welcome farang advances. If from a traditional Siamese background, a farang (white foreigner) would be regarded as unclean. In such circumstances, contact social or sexual would bring shame to all. Albeit, not so adversely hostile as with Chinese and Japanese cultures. Farang, gaijing, gweillo - smelly, big nosed, white faced ghost - every South East Asian nation had a derogatory, racist term for the European.

  The stunning young flight attendant turned and saw Steven staring at her. She was embarrassed.

  As their eyes met, Steven noted the young stewardess looked as perfect as she did in London. Maybe she had been taking part in a mile-high embrace with the captain, and in return for something hard, things were made soft concerning her official duties! Steven churned such peculiar, abstract ideas around his head to give reasons why the beautiful young Thai flight attendant still looked sensational after working as a glorified waitress on a seven-hour flight.

  As he prepared his opening gambit, Steven again stared for longer than was considered polite in Thai society.

  “I’m Steven Hunt.” He hoped he hadn’t sounded too pleased with himself, but having been an officer in the British armed forces, such attitudes were difficult to lose.

  “I am aware of that, sir,” the young woman replied, averting her eyes in a manner no Western woman would contemplate.

  “You remember the name of every passenger?” Steven asked, wondering if the girl was genuinely attracted to him or was just being polite.

  “Only first and business class. To ensure you receive a more personal service.” The young stewardess smiled, knowing she had scored a point.

  “And there was I thinking you’d taken a special interest in me alone. That’s a blow to my ego,” Steven replied, using English, self-deprecating humour to cloak his disappointment that it was the young woman’s duty to know the name of every business and first class passenger, not just his.

  Again the young flight attendant averted her eyes in a most feminine manner, reconfirming the cultural differences between Oriental East and Occidental West.

  “My biological clock tells me it’s afternoon, so I’ll say sawasdi don bye (good afternoon).” Steven utilised his limited but useful knowledge of Thai to further break the cultural ice.

  “You have lived in Thailand before,” the young woman half stated, half asked. “You speak some Thai.”

  “In Lao, during the Vietnam War. Just before the West pulled out. R and R, we all made a beeline for Thailand. I was very young then, but it was still a bit before your time.”

  The young flight attendant looked amused, and replied with a polite insult. “I was not even born whe
n the Vietnam War ended.”

  “Are you trying to tell me I’m too old?” Steven pretended to be offended.

  “Older men are more interesting,” she countered.

  Steven was uncertain whether the young woman was just trying to create a situation where he didn’t lose face, or was actually telling the truth.

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Young men have nothing inside here,” the flight attendant replied, pointing to the distance between her ears.

  “Are you telling the truth or just bullshitting, so I don't lose face?” Steven silently asked himself, knowing the Orient well enough to know it was not possible to know the Orient well enough. Concerning the young woman’s explanation as to why she preferred older men, Steven remained deeply sceptical.

  “I think I believe you. Maybe. Perhaps you’d tell me your name. You already know mine?”

  Steven’s knowledge of the Orient was substantiated by the inscrutability of the young woman’s next remark. “Cabin staff are not permitted to fraternise with passengers on a personal level.”

  “And I was going to ask you to have breakfast with me in Bangkok. Can’t you pretend we’ve already landed? You only have to visualise yourself six hours ahead, and it would be true. What’s your name?”

  “Gunn,” she replied, breaking company rules.

  In between occasional outbreaks of anarchy, the young woman’s answer went totally against the ordered and obedient nature of Thai people.

  “As in pistol?” Steven asked.

  “Nearly,” she replied.

  Steven believed he had scored, and Gunn could load his pistol any time.

  “Then you will have breakfast with me in Bangkok, when you come off duty?”

  With an unfathomable Oriental look, Gunn hesitated for a moment. “It is forbidden,” she finally said.