After mentioning that I had acquired a copy of a book by Dr Iain Corness, I felt a little bad that I haven’t actually had time to read it. So I did the next best thing and contacted the author to ask him to write a little something here. Here is a guest post from the Doc.

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It was Napoleon who rather disparagingly called Britain “that nation of shopkeepers”, but despite surnames like Baker, Butcher and Smith, which are derived from their forefathers’ old trades, Thailand is much more deserving of the title “a nation of shopkeepers”.

In the first volume of Farang, Thailand through the eyes of an expat, I mentioned one of my favourite shopkeepers, the “Sticker Man”, whose mobile shop almost defies description, but that was just one example. Everyone in Thailand seems to have a small shop selling something. And for the point of this exercise, I am ignoring the armies of Avon and Amway ladies, who are always ready to pounce on unsuspecting guests at a dinner party.

I was reminded of all this when the family went to celebrate Loy Krathong on Jomtien Beach. My wife had decided it was time for us to be a little more traditional and let the children help in making our own krathongs, rather than purchasing one from the thousands offered from the pickups parked all the way along Jomtien Beach. After all, in these days of austerity, 20 baht per krathong could be spent elsewhere more productively. For example, the local shop at the end of our street will sell me a can of beer for around that sort of money. (Definitely more attractive than a boat made of banana leaves.)

But let’s get back to commerce. As I just wrote, there are so many pickups selling krathongs, it is almost impossible to park on Beach Road. In between the shophouses are industrious families cutting up banana trunks to be used as the base for the floating arrangement, and folding the banana leaves into something resembling lotus blossoms. The family members make a production line, with the youngest and fittest sawing away at the trunks, while the old grandmothers carry out the final decorations, with the end result flogged by father from the family pick-up.

But on the night of Loy Krathong there were many more entrepreneurs waiting to see if they could liberate my cash from my wallet. We had hardly sat down in the deckchairs (20 baht each) and reached for a beer (100 baht, now there’s inflation for you) when the first of the old crones appeared thrusting a firework (100 baht) into my daughter’s eagerly waiting hand. Little Miss, at aged three and a half is completely savvy with the “possession is nine tenths of the law” concept and instinctively takes all items proffered to her (and some not so proffered). Before “possession” became absolute, said firework was removed from the grasping hand and returned to the vendor, with the first of my chorus of “mai ows”.

Next up, at least a few milliseconds later, was the chap selling the kom loys (another 100 baht). These are mini hot air balloons made from polyethylene film and a paraffin candle as the hot air source. Fortunately the paraffin candle’s life is finite, otherwise they would be finding the non-biodegradable balloons on the moon. No, they all eventually end up in the sea and even more eventually, are returned to the shore, for as long as we have a moon dictating the tides. Some kom loys, like the American space shuttle, are refurbished to fly again next year. Who said the Thais are not interested in the renewable eco-system?

We begged off the kom loy squadron (like the local taxi baht buses, there was one every 30 seconds) as the food sellers had spotted our table was not groaning with edibles. The first of these restaurants on the move are the traditional ones who carry both the product and the oven to cook it on. Steamers with prawns cooking away are placed beside you to tempt the palate. Ditto the calamari cooker. The squid got the nod (another 60 baht gone).

But modern commerce dictates “instant” food-to-go, as per the American Maccas concept of family fodder, and the Thais have adopted and adapted. Trays of deep-fried breaded prawns, green mango salad and similar items all in polystyrene boxes are paraded past you. The food may not last forever, but the boxes will!

(The above is an extract from the sequel I am writing to my book Farang, Thailand through the eyes of an ex-pat. I have been delighted with the response, with one’s first book you spend much time wondering if people will like it, or will it end up on the remaindered table within a week. So far that has not happened, it is now on its second print run and has been the best selling book in Pattaya for 16 weeks. And nobody has rung me to say it’s a pile of crap, so it must be OK!)

The book is available from Bookazine and Asia Books at a cost of 495 baht.

In every foreign-language book store in Thailand there is a section devoted to books written by foreigners about their new home. I sometimes pick one up and read through a few pages, only to be greeted with re-hashings of some bloke’s sexual exploits or else anecdotes that would be better in the form of a blog than in a book.

There are a few exceptions of course — Jake Needham and John Burdett have written some excellent stories — but for the most part, the book scene is a bit one-dimensional.

Having said all of that, I’ve been sent a couple of books over the past few months that it’s only fair to mention. I haven’t had time to read either and, in all honesty, I may never have time, but I’ll do my best to tell you what each is about.

The first is called Miss Bangkok, subtitled Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute. The book tells the story of Bua, a Thai prostitute, in her own words — or at least her own words through Nicola Pierce.

This book brings to life prostitution from the point of view of a Thai woman. The reason why I may at some point decide to read Miss Bangkok is because it has the potential to tell a great story if the main “character” is effectively portrayed.

I had a flick through the book and I think this type of story would be most enjoyed by someone who hasn’t spent much time in Thailand. Most of us who have been here for any length of time know what goes on at least some degree.

The second book I have before me is called Farang. I’m not keen on the title or the subtitle, which reads Thailand through the eyes of an ex-pat [sic]. It’s written by a Dr Iain Corness, who was actually born in Northern Thailand before moving to Scotland, then Australia and then back to Thailand.

Dr Corness is, according to the sleeve notes, a correspondent for the Pattaya Mail. The premise of the book is that he can look “in from the outside while also getting to see things most foreigners don’t”.

Looking through the book, it’s a collection of anecdotes written in the first person about his time in Thailand. It’s not a story as such, but rather a collection of musings and tales, the likes of which we (expats) all have and some of us choose to blog about from time to time.

Both of these books are available in B2S and other large book shops. Pick them up if they catch your interest.

I‘d never read anything by Bill Bryson before and so I decided to buy The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid. The book is a memoir and takes the reader through what it was like living in post-WW2 America. It’s a fascinating and also an incredibly witty account. Here’s an excerpt from page 64:

“Can we come?” they’d say.

“Yeah, all right,” you would answer if they were your size or “If you think you can keep up” if they were smaller. And when you got to the Trestle or the Vacant Lot or the Pond there would already be six hundred kids there. There were always six hundred kids everywhere except where two neighbourhoods met – at the Park, for instance – where the numbers would grow into the thousands. I once took part in an ice hockey game at the lagoon in Greenwood Park that involved four thousand kids, all slashing away violently with sticks, and went on for at least three quarters of an hour before anyone realized we didn’t have a puck.

What a glorious way with words Bryson has; he writes so crisply.

They come, they get naked, they run around the dessert for eight days just for the hell of it, and then they burn a 40 foot effigy of a man. No, it’s not a David Lynch movie. And no, they aren’t insane. This is Burning Man, the annual art festival that most people can neither explain what it is nor why they choose to go. It just happens, and everyone goes, and everyone loves it so much that they keep going back. Last year, nearly 40,000 people attended Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert, Nevada. It’s come a long way since 20 people watched Larry Harvey and Jerry James burn a wooden man in 1986 in San Francisco.

The first and second level tickets for this year’s event are already sold out, with only the third and fourth level still available. These tickets will set you back $250 and $280 respectively. Looks pretty expensive, right? So what do you get for your money? Well, there are no scheduled acts or performances; there are no bands and no stages; there are no food and drink stalls; there are no merchandise outlets selling keyrings or programs; and there is no definitive list of events. Oh, did I mention that there is no audience? The entire festival is focused on art, and the general feeling is that art can’t be restrained. As a result, the thrust behind Burning Man is on communal participation. Everyone is involved; everyone is the show.

You pack all the things you’ll need for the duration into the back of a car, and then you drive to the desert and experience this unique occasion. You’ll have to fend for yourself, make your own shelter, feed yourself, and bring enough water to stop you passing out through dehydration (it’s 110 degree in the desert!). Forget getting loaded up on beer and narcotics, the Burning Man festival is a drug itself. Just being there will alter your mind uncontrollably.

There are no guidelines about what you should do at the event, and there are no restrictions about how you should act (within reason). It’s about total freedom (although it is restricted to an area inside a 7-mile long pentagonal fence, as has been imposed by the local authorities). People come together to form a community of art-lovers. There are surprises around every corner. People get dressed up in all manner of inconceivable costumers, they drive cars that look like turtles or dinosaurs, and they speak in languages with familiar words but in a manner that is totally new, completely devoid of all regularity.

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This comes from Jean Baudrillard. I had to laugh for a few minutes when I read it. He can be very funny with his remarks sometimes.

The carbon gas produced by all the Winter tourist industries is contributing to the warming of the atmosphere, which is bringing milder Winters and, as a result, an absence of snow and, consequently, disappointment amongst the masses who had, however, thanks to those same industries, seen a rise in their standard of living and, with it, increased chances of being able to take a skiing holiday.