Tales and Travels of a Teacher in Thailand

By Jeff Sparks

Disillusioned with the tedium of life in the UK, Jeff Sparks spends months each winter roaming Thailand. Increasingly drawn to the liberation of a tropical climate and the ease with which Thai people enjoy life, Jeff yearns to feel more involved. Eviction from his U.K. flat by an overbearing local authority propels Jeff to move to Thailand where he soon finds a job teaching English alongside fellow ex-pats in a private Bangkok school owned by a matriarch who regards all the staff as members of her own family. Jeff and the teachers try to establish new lives and families in the Land of Smiles with varying degrees of success over the next two decades. The reader joins Jeff and his friends on their adventures, both humorous and reflective, in rural Thailand and the Bangkok classroom. A graduate of Thai language, the author’s lengthy time in Thailand makes ‘Tales and Travels of a Teacher in Thailand’ an engaging, joyful and insightful personal account of a Westerner abroad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Sparks
• Release date: Apr 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370905270

Jeff Sparks

The author spent his formative years in Nigeria, an experience that instilled a lifelong love for the tropics. He moved to Thailand in 1992, dividing his time between Teaching English in a private school in Bangkok and his wife’s farm.

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Tales and Travels of a Teacher in Thailand

TALES AND TRAVELS OF A TEACHER IN THAILAND

Jeff Sparks

First Published in United Kingdom , March 2017

ISBN: 9781370905270

Wherever you are - be there. - Debasish Mridha

Copyright 2017 Gordon Caswell

First Pu blished in United Kingdom , 2017

This book is sold subject to the condition

that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise,

be lent, re-sold, hired-out, or otherwise circulated

without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of

binding or cover other than that in which it is

published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed

on the subsequent purchaser.

Also available for Kindle

and as an eBook

Preface

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After journeying through various countries in Asia, a fellow traveller recommended I visit Thailand . At that time I knew little about the country, there were few references to Thailand in UK libraries, perhaps because it had never been a colony or seriously involved in any major European war over the last century.

However, once landing on Thailand ’s shores it didn’t take me long to realise my wandering days were over. It wasn’t just the variety of geography and culture Thailand had to offer: bustling old and new Bangkok , the magnificent Krabi coastline, the mountains and ethnic groups of the north-west and the music and culture of the north-eastern people, rather it was something more instinctive and human. One day upcountry I got caught in a thunderstorm at a bus shelter. As I sat there starting to get wet from the driving rain, a boy appeared with an umbrella, beckoning me to follow him. We ran across the road together to a small house where his family were eating lunch and insisted I sat down to join them. The house was sparsely decorated, it was plain the family had little money spare, yet they were generous and polite with frequent bouts of laughter as I gamely dipped my sticky rice into each side dish in turn.

This natural combination of Thai hospitality, humour and dignity instinctively struck me as the right way to live life, and this was in a land where the sun shone all year!

I felt I had come home but the only way to stay permanently was as a teacher of English. Luckily I found a school where we came to adopt the famous line you can check out but you can never leave as the motto for both the friendly family atmosphere generated by the owner as well as the excellent supportive skills of the manager of our English Programme who nurtured us expats, most of whom were masquerading as teachers in our first few months.

This book takes the reader through those years, through times of happiness and joy for some yet also desperation for others. It is written in appreciation of Thailand, a country that has given so much to those of us lucky enough to have been born as native English speakers whilst also offering salutary reminders of the perils of impatience for those who rush in where angels fear to tread.

Chapter 1 - 1988 : Here C omes t he S un

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The door op ened and the passengers lumber ed in line down the stairway, clutc hing their hand luggage. As I stepped o ut of the plane the blast of heat felt as if I had opened an oven door. I t was inescapable, surrounding and enveloping all. Hurriedly r emoving my jacket and slinging it over my arm , I moved towards the immigration desk.

I’d done my homework and read the bud get trave l l ers ’ bible: The Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand , I knew there was no need to get a taxi from the airport, Don Muang , rather bus no 59 passed right by and went all the way to the emerging backpack mecca, Khao san road. S triding out of the airport , it was a mere three m inute walk to the bus stop on the busy Vipa v adee highway . Befo re long a 59 came along and I clambered on with my backpack , joining the eclectic mixture of construction work ers, vendors, labourers, office- ladies, all going home in the afternoon rush hour with nothing to pacify the heat but open win dows and a single fan above the driver ’s seat .

The b us conductor strode down the aisle , swaying an d grasping the rails on the seats , seemingly in rhythm with the rocking and jerky acceleration of the old diesel bus. In her late thirtie s with her long hair held u p with a hair slide, she smiled as she took the fares, confirming destination s. She clasped what looked like a cylindrical metal baton . C lick ing it rhythmically and fast - click click cli ckrrrrr, click click clickrrrrr , she advanced down the bus . The coins from her fares went in the baton whilst banknotes were held between her fin gers according to their value .

‘Banglampoo? ’

I nodded. S he was plainly used to ba ckpackers getting on her bus. Relaxed, I felt as sure d she w as aware of my destination. S he was busy. A s the bus approached a bus stop she would lean out of the window on the left side, shaking her metal baton up and down in the air , warning motorbikes thinking of overtaking on the inside to slow down .

And as the baton was a traffic controller , so there was n o need to call out, ‘ A ny fares please ?’ T he simple persistent yet rhythmic click of the baton was an ample warning to any passengers contemplating a free ride , one co sh of that and you’d be out for the count .

As the bus ground its way along she called out the various stops, awakening any dozing passengers to their destination. O nce the bus had stopped she lent a helping arm to children or old folk clambering up or down the steep steps. The driver, like an obedient horse waiting fo r his rider , kne w to wait until he heard her command . He seemed imperturbable to it all, sat back in his reclining seat with a towel draped over it to cool down at red lights and traffic jams.

With no hills or prominent land marks, I was completely lost as the bus crunched gears , pulling away from the innumerable sets of traffic lights and bus stops. The ride which had cost a mere seven pence was turning out to be an hour and a half long. J ust as I was beginning to have serious doubts about whether I was on the right route the bus groaned up an incline before the road abruptly op en ed up into a wide avenue. Two hundred metres ahe ad prominently placed on a roundabout were four concrete sheaves looking like the side s of slightly curled hands protecting and surrounding a small turret in the middle. F rom a distance it resembled an ornate diving bell. I recognized it at once from photos in The Lo nely Planet Guide - Democracy Monumen t . A s the bu s passed round the roundabout I could see the turret had two carved golden bowls with a sculptured box on top. Inside , although invisible from the outside, was the 1932 Constitution.

‘ Ban g lampoo, Khaosan road , ’ announce d the conductress, pointing to my right. T he Lonely Planet bible had a map clearly depicting this junction y et looking out of the bus there was no sign of any Western backpacker cultural motifs : no cafes advertising banana pancakes, cheap guesthouses or bucket shops promoting bus tickets to exotic destinations outside Bangkok .

Once on Ratchadamne rn road with its eight lanes I follow ed my fellow pedestrians on to the ze bra crossing . C onfidently cross ing the first three lanes , everyone suddenly came to an abrupt halt. W hy stop now ? T he sp eed of a taxi accelerating towards my path told me why. T he right hand lane had a green light for motorists to turn right, leaving us stuck in the middle of the crossing . We stood there patiently in the heat and fumes as air conditioned cars whizzed b y within inches of our faces. We were pedestrians , the lowest form of life on the roads of any developing country.

Turning into Khaosan road I was suddenly in a different world. F lashing lights from beer stalls beckoned me here and there, guesthouses proclaimed their names o n low-key electronic signs. I tried a few , walking up narrow staircases or straight in to a simple desk with posters behind, advertising trips to islands in the south and treks in the north.

‘Do you have any rooms?’

‘Sorry, full, high season.’

It was th e same story all down the strip. Tired and sweaty, I began to envisage a night in the nearby park at Sanam Luang . I reached th e end of the road literally at a guesthouse almost opposite the police station.

‘Do you have any rooms?’

‘Sorry we’re full but I do have a mattress on the roof garden you can have for twenty baht .’

‘Oh that’s fine. I t’ s just for one night. I’m tired . ’

‘The only thing is you have to share it with a Dutch girl who booked o ne half of the mattress earlier.’

Suddenly things were starting to look up! First night in Bangkok , gazing at the stars overhead with a Dutch la dy under a mosquito net seemed a very attractive way to begin this adventure.

I hadn’t met many Dut ch ladies but the ones I had were passionate about most things , whether it was politics, the environment, travel, music or comedy. Striking up conversations was never difficult.

After a very welcome shower and change of clothes, I stepped outside for so mething to eat and drink . I soon found a meal of chicken and fried rice in a nearby Thai food shop . T he atmosphere of quiet but determined and quick eaters exuded an air of eat to live rather than live to eat. Replenished and re-energized , I then wandered down Khaosan road for a beer or two . I soon passed a bar on the pavement, the customers perched, or in one or two cases slumped, on bar stools.

‘Hello, welcome, sit down!’ was the cry from behind the counter. The soft voice and tone were at odds with the order - sit down! Bristling i nstinctively at such aggression but curious as to the owner of such a voice, I glanced up to meet the smiling face of an immaculately dressed woman bathed i n the flashing counter lights. S he could have be en a model .

I could forgive those harsh words . ‘ Beer Sing, twenty baht .’

Th e beautiful bartender passed over a small bottle of beer smugly ensconced in a polystyrene hand-grip, a stubbie cooler.

God it tasted good in the tropical heat .

Starting to feel mellow, the beer, the lovely hostess, the gen tly flashing lights , the cooler evening , all combined as time went by into a tranquil feeling of well- being. T he dreary and weary looking concre te of the police flats opposite so exposed in the glaring sunlight of the day, trans formed into a mysterious tower . T he breeze cast fleeting shadows from the trees , seemingly dancing over the façade.

But I was edged out of my reverie literally by an elbow nudging my ribs.

‘Hey, how much yer pay for beer, how much?’ I peered at the man in a singlet and frayed shorts.

‘ Twenty baht .’

‘ Ah, yer got r ipped off man . I f yer go down the side street over the re yer can get one for eighteen baht . ’

Looking over to where the man gesticulated , I could see a dark alley with clouds of mosquitoes and insects congregating around the one street light. A heavily made - up figure behind the bar in a low-cut dress was just visible .

‘Welcome, welcome, hansum man!’ boomed out the baritone voice from behind the bar to a lone backpacker passing by , presumably just off the plane . I shuddered . I coul dn’t understand exactly what my senses were telling me about that particular bartender but I knew I was better off staying where I was.

‘Yer room , ow much yer paying?’

‘ Twenty baht ,’ I didn’t say the word room so whilst I may have been guilty of deception I hadn’t lied.

‘ Wh ere’s that? I’m paying thirty five baht an I thought I got a good deal . ’

T he conversation quickly became tiresom e. T he shabby tourist’s furtive glances, his obsession with prices, his constant checking of his beer receipt tin to see if it had been padded , all sta rted to erode that mellow buzz I had been cruising on. And I wa sn’t the only one, the bar girl’s smile had turned into a frown.

‘Cheap C harlie. Nobody cheat you here, if you think we cheat, you go. Get out!’

Turning towards me , the ragged tourist shrugged his shoulders, ‘You see my friend, now she’s shouting and you know why? I’ll tell you ( I hadn’t asked ). C oz she knows I know she ’s cheating and she feel guilty . ’

But I hadn’t seen any cheating . I t seemed to me this guy had got it all wrong, these people , the Thais , simply want ed a good time. A lready I had h eard Thai girls using the word happy several times in conversations with foreigners:

‘John , are you happy now?’

‘ Tha iland happy, don’t think too mu ch .’

‘Thai people enjoy, happy not serious . ’

Thais do n’t go in for open suspicion, that’s rule numb er one I thought to myself. Don’t express any t houghts on cheating unless you’re very sure and even then if it’s on ly a small sum , let it pass. I thought back to the time I had boarded a bus in India near the Ne palese border going to Katmandu . Whilst w ait ing for the bus to leave, a tourist similar in appearance to this guy and burdened down with an enormous backpack, had got on and sat down next to me .

‘ How much did you pay for your ticket?’

‘Two hundred and twenty rupees . ’

‘They cheated me! I paid two hundred and twenty five, the thieving dogs. I’m g oing to demand five rupees back. ’

Furious, he clambered off the bus with his unwieldly load and staggered off in the dust towards the shack that served as a traffic agency. To my immense relief the bus departed before he could return. The thought of spending a long bus journey in the company of such an intense individual was too much to bear.

Hea ding back eagerly to the shared m attress on the roof garden, I lay down benea th the mosquito net awaiting my unknown Dutch partner. We would have to say a few words of acknowled gement if only to be polite. I thought of the sort of conversa tions budget trave l l ers always had when first meeting:

‘Where are you from?’

‘First time in Thailand ?’

‘How much did you pay?’

They all seemed very dull conversation openers yet I couldn’t t hink of what to say to a lady I had never met an d was to share a mattress with. P erha ps something along the lines of: ‘n o chance of falling out of bed tonight . ’

No, that was too lame . I looked up at the stars, faintly visible through Bangkok ’s night sky. I c ouldn’t get over flying . J ust nineteen hours previously I had been sitting in the departure lounge at Heathrow on a non-descript dreary November morning in the UK and now here I was, less than a da y later, gazing up at the stars and waiting for an unknown woman to appear beneath the mosquito net. Even the revving of the tuk t uk engines below didn’t faze me . I t all blended into an exo tic pot pourri of sensation s as the jetlag caught up and I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke to the sounds of birds chirping and the traffic be low grinding into action. To my disappointment there was no si gn of the Dutch girl. Making my way downstairs t o the guesthouse’s restaurant I ordered an omelette and a cup of tea.

‘Sleep okay ?’ asked the manager. H e looked surprisingly young to be running a guesthouse. It turned out he was the son of the non- English speaking owner.

‘ Yes, but I never saw the Dutch girl . ’

‘Ah, she managed to find a room in the next street ,’ he replied.

L ater I would relate this story to another backpacker.

‘No! That’s the same line he sold me, ’ exclaimed the American . ‘ He told me I would have to share a mattress with a Dutch girl on the roof garden. I even bought an expensive shampoo in the hope of s uccess but she never turned up.’

I wondered w hy t he owner’s son thought of Dutch girls for his little ruse. Why not German, French or English girls for example?

Five months later after time spent in Issan, the north and the s outh of Thailand , I stoo d on the flight observation deck at Don Muang airport , broke and waiting to catch my flight back to the UK. It was a balmy night and looking back towards the railway station I watched the leave s of the banana trees flapping whilst the vendors plied their trades below . T he bells on their carts tinkled, advertising their wares as they walked dow n the road pushing their cart s . Thailand was alive, whether it was the streets of Bangkok ’s financial hub or small rura l towns far into the hinterland. T here was always the papaya salad vendor, the noodle s stall, and the ‘ cooked to order ’ stand with their tables and chairs on the pavements and patrons engaged in everyday talk .

In this bustling world of laissez-faire capitalism the women in Thailand often play ed the prominent role. At food stalls they would be the cook and the one taking the order . For take - a - w ay food they would tie the elastic band around the plastic bag of curry or other liquid foods with a flick and a fl ourish of the wrist to ensure a perfect seal on the way home for the customer . T he husband would often be limited to a minor rol e: collecting, washing the dishes and wiping the tables.

H umour and banter betwe en the vendors and customers were ubiquitous and although I felt outside this, I felt this was a place I wanted to know more about, to understand what was going on. Thailand seemed to be so full of humanity, of laughter, every day transactions opportun ities for interaction and fun . And as the economy was booming so the middle -class were learning English in droves. A trip to the bank would result in language queries in the middle of a money exchange : ‘ By the way , can you tell me the difference between what if it rains tomorrow and sup posing it rains tomorrow? I’m very confused. ’

There didn’t seem to be that clear division be tween work and home life which wa s so cut - and - dried in the West. Poor people in Bangkok often had to bring their toddlers to work . The buses in Bangkok were either run by the Bangkok Metropolitan Authority or by private bus companies who had been issued contracts for certain routes. The latter encouraged husband and wi fe teams, the husband the driver, the wife the conductress , as it meant less turnover of staff. It was common to see the young children of the employees asleep on the bus seats or benches. One inventive couple had gone s o far as to weld a child’s play pen onto the large engine cowling between the driver and front seat passenger on his left. Whilst the bus chugged along, their toddler, barely able to stand, would grip the bars and coo at both the passengers and her parents.

Civil ser vants would bring their offspring to the office in the school holidays . T he children would be on the floor d rawing and writing in notebooks whilst work carried on around them. S ecretaries w earing slippers would leave the office to purchase lunch from a vendor outside , perhaps some sticky rice and papaya salad to share with colleagues.

Time and motion men from the West would have had a fit and dismissed half the employees in a Thai department store : one staff member to recommend which cable to buy for a sound system, another to take the bill and money to the cashier and bring back the receipt and change, and thirdly the