Klap Barn?Going Home with a Bar Boy
?Klap barn??Go(ing)
home. It doesn?t have the same meaning in Western culture as it does here in
Thailand. In the US or Canada, ?going home? means heading back
to the house, apartment, condo or trailer where we presently reside. Our
cultures tend to permanently disperse large portions of the populace. Someone
born in Toronto may spend his adult life in Vancouver. Californians head north.
Home is where we hang our hat, where we pick up our paycheck.
Going home in Thailand is magic.
Going home means returning to parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles,
grandparents and friends in the town or village where one grew up. Klap
barn is a return to roots?to rice paddies or elephant round ups; to
lounging in a hammock and eating sticky rice; to a beer with school-aged friends
who have remained home; to memories not that far past?for most of the bar boys
are barely removed from school days and more innocent times.
A
friend of mine who I would walk through fire for, invited me to go home with him
in May to the far north of Nongbualamphu. It was an honor and I accepted
eagerly. This is the story of that week-long journey to a splendid world that
was different from mine in many ways.
As the Thai Airways International Boeing
737-400 rose effortlesly from the Don Muang Airport tarmac, Nai turned to me
from his window seat and said one word: ?Beautiful.? We were flying north to
Udon Thani because I was not in the mood for 12-hour bus trips. I convinced him
to ?risk? his first flight by rationalizing that we would gain almost two
more days with the family this way.
Beautiful wasn?t just the sight
of Thailand slipping below us; beautiful describes my friend.
I?ve known Nai (I?ve changed
his name) since a 10-day Bangkok stay in November 1999, but it was after I moved
here in March 2000 that we forged a friendship. Yes, it is based on business,
but I believe he trusts me?as I do him?and knows he is safe with me.
Nai
has a legally-aged ID card, although he looks considerably younger. (You?ll
have to believe me, he is a very good-looking young man. None of the images here
show his face, to protect his privacy.)
He is no dummy and has a rapier-sharp wit he keeps well-honed in two
languages. I?m old enough to be Nai?s grandfather, but he inspires me. He
carries himself and acts with a dignity well beyond his years. He?s working
here to help his parents, but he isn?t going to lose control of himself.
Yeah, I love him a lot.
There are no buses from Udon Thani airport to the village of Thoom Phom
in Nongbualamphu. No problem. By the time I trundled my bag outside the
terminal, Nai had organized a ride in the cab of a pickup truck for the
90-minute journey. It passed quickly as we raced through verdant countryside.
Fields peppered with water buffalo, rice paddies, roadside stands selling
pottery. I wasn?t in Bangkok anymore, Toto. This was rural Thailand.
Before long, we were pulling into a
village of several paved streets lined with two story homes, well-spaced out and
shaded by a variety of trees, including coconut palms. Nai directed the driver
down a 50-meter dirt driveway to a large wooden house where two women were
seated on a large platform in a carport-like area. We had arrived.
Nai was greeted with a smile by a short, chunky woman dressed in a colorful
blouse and a dark blue wrap around skirt that fell to her ankles. No hug, not
even a word spoken at first?just a contented smile that wouldn?t leave her
face. Nai flopped down on a teak platform under the covered but wall-less on
three sides space that I came to call the Social Area. After a minute or two, I
asked if the woman was his mother. He nodded.
It was like we had just gone to the corner
store and had come back after only a few minutes away. No greeting at all--just
the silent, happy smile. But we were home. Klap barn.
I think I eventually introduced myself to Korn
and the other lady who was there, his grandmother. Soon, Mama disappeared and
returned minutes later with two bowls of the typical Thai noodles and chicken,
which she had purchased at a local ?cafe.? She gave us each one and I
noticed Nai?s was clearly a darker red than mine. ?Phet (spicy) for
the Thai boy, mai phet (not spicy) for the Farang,? I joked in Thai,
breaking the ice a little.
A procession of neighbors, relatives and
children began to arrive?to see Nai and his Farang guest for the week. ?Farang?
is a word I would hear constantly spoken during the week as a proper noun. Each
time it meant someone or some group had placed me at the center of a discussion.
It was never bothersome. People were curious about me. It wasn?t even
disconcerting to know these conversations were flowing about me as though I
wasn?t there. Always the same: "Where's he from? What's his name? How old
is he?"
The grandmother vanished and returned with a
bowl of delicacies that may have been a test for me. Pickled tadpoles, little
black eyes bulging and various hard-shelled bugs: ?loo-ot?.
All Thai eyes were on me as I remained adventurous and downed a few
tadpoles after carefully spooning away the bugs. The best way to eat them was
with balls of sticky rice, which are used to crush the protein by pressing the
ball against the food. Surprisingly, it was tasty and I eventually did eat a
crunchy beetle without problem. I never got sick from food during the week,
although Nai did?ironic, isn?t it?
The home of Mee the father, Korn and Nai was
larger than I expected. A
cinder block storage area with a cement floor supported a second story sleeping
area that was accessed by a dozen steep steps. Upstairs, slatted windows?the
kind that one can wind open?encompassed three walls. There was no furniture
other than a small wooden table supporting a 13? color TV and two dressers,
which seemed to hold more pillows than actual clothes. One corner was blocked
off with shelves and a 4? high mosquito net surrounded a mattress on the
floor for the parents. Decoration consisted of a huge, battered print of eagles
and a small Buddha shrine on a shelf built into one wall near the sleeping area.
A point of pride on one dresser was a framed photo of Nai as a 12-year old
novice Buddhist monk.
Living is done
downstairs under the structure similar to a two-car wide carport. The
?carport? was divided into two parts. The section further from the cement
main floor was for the tractor-like ?buffalo? and the wagon that it pulled.
Nearer the cinder block structure was the 6 x 8? teak platform.
Here people gathered to eat, drink beer or soda and socialize. An old
hammock swung between two supporting poles and this was Nai?s favorite spot.
Daylight hours might see Korn resting there, staring at the rain for hours.
I met Mee
later in the afternoon. I could see Nai a few years from now in that handsome
face. He was huskier than his son probably will be, and could flash a smile
(both parents can actually) as dazzling as his offspring?s. We had come home
from a walk and there he was, Nai?s father. ?My dad,? he whispered. Again,
no hugs or anything like that.
Interesting, here, the lack of overt affection,
yet it is obvious the parents love Nai and visa versa. On the first day, Mee
said wistfully, ?Nai went to Bangkok and now there is only us.? I never saw
him hug or touch Nai?except for one revealing gesture: Nai was sitting on the
platform and Mee began tenderly plucking tiny specks of leaves and dirt from the
back of his son?s white shirt. Korn,
being a Mom, has more latitude and caresses were more forthcoming, often while
he lounged on the platform or swung in the hammock.
Before the trip, I
had been worried about how I would be accepted. The day we left, I confessed,
?I am a little nervous, Nai. I mean, your parents know I met you in the bar.
What will they think of me??
He smiled, laughed
and replied, ?Wait you meet my family.? He was right. I never felt a real
stigma to being a Farang the bar-boy brought home. Conversations during the week
made it obvious that everyone knew the essence of our relationship, but I never
felt put upon and I felt totally accepted by the parents.
That evening, along with a dozen guests, we
enjoyed a special feast of duck cooked in a variety of ways. The whole meal was
laid out on rattan mats placed over the cement floor of the lower level
storage/cooking area. I sat on the floor and eschewed the proffered spoon and
fork and ate with my hands, like everyone else. Conversation flowed, laughter
sparkled the air and photos were taken by myself and Nai?s father (using my
camera). I felt like I have in rural Mexico?comfortable around the people I
was with.
When it came time to sleep, I saw two sleeping mats and pillows and been
placed side by side in the far corner of the sleeping room. We were to sleep
together, Nai and I. After we turned in, Mee and Korn carefully draped mosquito
netting over our sleeping area.
Mee is a rice farmer,
and the next morning we visited his land (7 rai, the Thai version of a
acre) where he was tilling the soil for the start of the planting season a week
away. Transportation was via the strange ?buffalo? contraption with its
7-foot steering bars, which pulled our wagon. At the fields, Mee pulled some
metal wheels out of the palm-leaf shelter he had constructed and changed the
wheels for plowing. Soon, the mechanical buffalo?which has replaced the
four-legged one?was trundling through the thick muck, turning up the soil.
Thanks, in part, I'm
sure, to the money he sends home each month.
My buddy slept most
of the day. His job in Bangkok is, by nature, a night job and at home he was
still adjusting to the change?getting up before one p.m. Nai starts work at
about 7:30 in the evening; the club closes at 2 but it is at least three before
he retires. Like all the boys, he has become a creature of the night, not the
day. The next day, he slept in so late, his grandmother actually called out his
full name and said, ?Get up! You?re not in Bangkok anymore!!?
Each day in Thoom
Phom passed in pleasant somnolence. We slept (no, nothing of that nature
occurred), walked, talked and visited friends. I saw Nai prostrate himself to
honor his great grandmother. I saw him laugh and hang around with friends his
own age?being the teenager, the boy, he still is. We visited a lily-pad choked
lagoon where he used to fish when he ?was a baby.? One day, he attacked a
large durian husk in a 20-minute battle to get to the succulent fruit inside. In
the five days, Nai did the things he had come home to do.
Klap
barn--that magic expression.
And
we ate constantly. Almost every hour someone would be pushing food at me. Each
evening, I would buy some liter bottles of Chang beer and friends and relatives
would come by for a little nip. One night I was offered some Lao whiskey. I shot
the clear liquid back and commented it was almost like Tequila. Then, I showed
everyone how Mexicans drank: I licked salt off my wrist, dumped the whiskey down
my throat and chased it with beer. The Thais were impressed.
Nai?s dynamite
personality became absolutely charismatic in Thoom Phom. At these get-togethers
each evening, everyone?adults and children alike?would hang on his every
word, waiting for the next joke to roll off his lips. Surrounded by his eager
audience, his eyes would light up, darting from one person to the next, his
perfect smile reaching out and pulling everyone towards him. At one point on
that first night, he looked at me and said in English, "I'm happy to be
home." That alone made the week worthwhile. It was a joyous atmosphere.
My friend was
demonstrative towards me, too. One night, we were sitting with 10 or 15 people. He
lay on the platform, head on his father?s thigh and his arm casually draped
over my leg. Another day, we sat on a friend?s platform right at a ?major?
intersection in the village. Nai?s friend asked if he was looking forward to
going back to Bangkok. ?50/50,? he said. Then he said something about me,
placed one hand on my stomach and curled the other arm around my hips, laying
the hand on my buttock. All this in front of passing traffic and without any
self-consciousness.
On the last
afternoon, while Nai took another nap, his parents came out to sit with me on
the platform. Speaking slowly, distinctly and in Thai vocabulary they knew I
could understand, they each told me how happy they were that Nai had me for a
friend. They felt he was safe with me and they hoped I would visit again. It was
humbling and all I could do was re-assure them that I knew they would worry
about their son, but they could also know that he had someone he could call any
hour, anytime, if necessary. Always, I will be here for him.
About 30 people came to see us off early the next morning. Several sat in the back of a pickup truck and endured the trip to the airport for a final goodbye. It is clear that Nai is not just popular in Bangkok, but in Thoom Phom as well. He has many friends.
He also knows he will have help
when it is time to return to Thoom Phom. His birthday is within one day of mine in October,
the same month I have my next vacation. Perhaps I will be able to give him a
nice present.
For more images of Thoom Phom, click here.
Home A Virgin's Guide Pattaya My Fantasy Club River Kwai and Rose Garden
Patpong A Boy's House Top Man Club Patpong Map Festivals Spirit Amazing
Speaking Thai Loy Krathong Bai's Bad Day Em The Birthday Party
© Sanukthai, 2000. All rights reserved. Email at [email protected]
Last updated: June 19, 2000.
