The Chronicles of Foster Foskin’s Adventures in Thailand #19

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I woke up with a start and then wished I hadn’t. Someone outside had a loudspeaker turned up full bore. They were shouting in non-stop Thai. I woke Nok up and asked her where the fire was.

No fire, she said, that’s just the village headman telling everyone the news.

The bloke droned on and on, and it wasn’t even daylight yet!

“Why does ‘e have ter tell everyone at this hour of the night?”

Nok looked at me with a soft smile and pulled me back down onto the pillow. “Shut your ears. Ignore him. He does that almost every morning. All the villagers are up and on their way to the rice fields already.”

“No wonder!” I said, “Who’d wanna stay and listen ter that bloody racket all morning?”

Nok did the only sensible thing. She pushed me head down under the sheets, blockin’ out most of the noise and distractin’ me so much I soon fergot the headman. Yer might say I became her headman. What a way ter go! Fixed me bloody hangover too.

Noises downstairs, and the tempting aromas of fresh coffee and frying eggs wafting up through the gaps in the floorboards soon had us downstairs. We took our coffee out front to the veranda and shouted good morning to the passing throng as they made their way to the fields. Bluey joined us soon after.

“Can’t sleep fer that bloody racket, Fos.” I nodded, but said nothin’. Who could get a bloody word in edgeways anyway?

That bloody headman was still at it for the next hour. Give a Thai a bloody microphone and yer just can’t shut ‘em up, can yer?

After breakfast, a procession of village shielas started streamin’ into the house. They all sat down on the floor and started gabblin’ on in the Esarn language. By now, I was startin’ ter pick up a few words of Thai, but I couldn’t understand a word of their chatter. Nok explained that they were speakin’ in Esarn. They were plannin’ the weddin’, decidin’ who would do what. All these shielas were relatives, she said, so they all wanted ter get in on the action, so ter speak.

Finally, the headman stopped ‘is bloody sermon, but there was no quiet after that. The shielas was workin’ themselves up into a real frenzy. There was a lot of talk, plenty of laughs, and they was passin’ around the betel nut basket as they talked.

Just then, this really ugly younger shiela walked in. Nok jumped up and ran over to ‘er. They sat down on the floor outside the circle of older women and got into a real animated conversation. The ugly one kept looking at me, and if looks was daggers I’d of been dead fer sure.

Finally, Nok got up and came over to me and the ugly shiela went back out. I asked Nok who she was.

“She’s my best friend from high school. I haven’t seen her for many years. But now she’s not very happy, I think. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. We had a fight and now she won’t come to the wedding.”

“Was she always that ugly?” I asked.

“Yes, Foster, she’s very unlucky. No man will love her. But remember, beauty is only skin deep.”

I had a bad feelin’ about that shiela, so I suppose that’s why I retorted without thinkin’, “Strewth. Maybe someone ought to of skinned ‘er at birth then. It might of helped, eh?”

I knew I shouldn’t of said that. As soon as the words was out of me mouth, Nok threw me a dirty look, got up, and walked out the door. She didn’t come back until lunch time.

Bluey and me sat back out on the veranda, popped a coupla tinnies and relaxed. I got out me mobile phone and called up the Stickman.

“G’day mate. How are ya doin’ getting the boys rounded up? Is everythin’ under control?”

“Yeah, no worries mate. We’re all leavin’ town termorrer mornin’. We’ll get there mid afternoon I reckon. Where are we all gonna stay?”

“Don’t worry about it, mate. Nok and me have it all worked out. When we told the villagers youse was all comin’ all the unmarried shielas said they would be happy ter give yer billets.”

Stickman thanked me profusely and we hung up. I didn’t tell ‘im that most of them shielas all work in Cowboy or Nana, so they weren’t shy about havin’ a farung sleepin’ over. They’d demand the rent from the blokes fer sure. But yer get what yer pay for, don’t yer?

Things was gettin’ organized and the weddin’ was well on the way, so Bluey and me relaxed and let things take their course.

By midday I was wonderin’ where Nok was when I spotted ‘er comin’ down the road. She was ‘er usual happy lookin’ self, so I reckoned she’d forgiven me fer me thoughtless remark. We sat down ter lunch and then Nok went back out again, tellin’ me she had arrangements to make.

By now, Bluey and me was startin’ ter get a bit bored, so we went fer a walk. Bluey looked up and saw a plane flyin’ overhead with a long white smoke trailin’ across the sky.

“That plane reminds me of the time I was flyin’ from Perth ter Sydney with only three other passengers. We were half way there when the pilot came out white faced and said that the plane was about ter crash.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but there are only three parachutes, and I need one so that I can tell the FAA why the plane crashed.” He jumped out.

Then the Brit grabbed a parachute, strapped it on and said just before he jumped out, “Her Majesty sent me on a top secret mission. I must complete it or the Commonwealth will be irreparably damaged.”

Then the Irishman jumped up, strapped on a pack and said, “I am the smartest man in Ireland. I can’t miss the World Intellectuals Competition or Irishmen will never be able to hold their heads up in pride ever again.” He leaped out of the door.

“That left me and the New Zealander.”

“So how’d yer manage to convince the Kiwi ter give you the parachute?”

“No need.” Bluey said, “The kiwi picked up two parachutes and told me that the Irishman had strapped on me bloody rucksack!”

There wasn’t much ter see on our walk so we went back ter Nok’s house and sank tinnies the rest of day and well into the night.

The next day was more of the same. After breakfast Nok called me in ter talk with her mother. We sat down on the floor and Nok started, “How much will you pay my mother to marry me?”

“Eh?” I said. “What do yer mean?”

“It’s the custom to pay the bride’s mother a ‘sin sot’, what you call a dowry, when we get married.”

I can tell yer, this came as a bit of a shock. I wasn’t about ter pay fer me bloody bride! It just didn’t sound right, eh?”

“Well, listen love where I come from we don’t pay for our wives. I’m not real sure I want ter start now.”

Nok didn’t look too happy, but when somethin’ don’t feel right yer can’t back down on yer principles, can yer?

“But Foster, you don’t understand. You only pay the Sin Sot to my mother, and then she gives it to me after the wedding. That way, she will feel comfortable knowing that I have some money in case you ever leave me.”

Well, that sounded more reasonable, and I didn’t mind givin’ Nok some money. She was goin’ ter be me wife, after all. I agreed ter pay 100,000 Baht. So, Bluey and me walked up ter the local bank and I withdrew the money from an ATM.

Around 4 in the afternoon the boys turned up in two vans. They piled out and stood there looking like a bunch of misfit mercenaries lookin’ for a war that wasn’t there. First out was the Stickman himself. A tall, lanky bloke dressed like he was about ter start teachin’ English again. He was wearin’ a khaki shirt buttoned up bar the top one, a pair of brown elastic-sided Cocky boots, and brown corduroy daks.

After him came that sartorial vision, Dana, dressed this time in light powder blue trousers, and an orange shirt. Hangin’ off him was a drop-dead gorgeous shiela dressed in red spandex mini dress, knee-high white boots, and tits like balloons. Jeez! The old Dana was doin’ all right fer himself, that’s fer sure.

Korski appeared, a grizzled lookin’ veteran, short gray hair, a cigar clamped in his mouth, and steely eyes takin’ in everythin’ around him. Darned if I can remember what he was wearin’ because once yer locked onto his eyes yer kinda forget everythin’ else.

Nonthaburi Sean oozed out of the van lookin’ like he’d been run over by a bloody truck...again. Ya gotta wonder about a bloke who goes out on a dinky motorbike and then wonders why ends up with gravel rash and broken bones!

Pothole Research stepped out smartly dressed for exploring. He was wearing a military-style shirt, green baggy trousers with lots of pockets, sturdy brown boots, and a mop of blond hair over a pasty white face framed with wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like the quintessential Bavarian explorer.

Chiang Mai Kelly crept out next. He looked a bit shell-shocked, but at least it he didn’t bring that bloody Pattaya Princess who’d been makin’ his life hell. He obviously needed fortification, so I pointed him in the direction of the waiting beers immediately.

Frank Visakay leaped out of the second van dressed in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, with a straw beachcomber’s hat on top of his bald visage. Frank looked like the bloke who’d won the lottery and didn’t know where ter spend the money. But I bet the dark brown beauty holdin’ him up was a big help makin’ up ‘is mind. She had a slim, taut body, a golden glint in ‘er eyes, and ATM fingers.

Next out was Dane, lookin’ like youse’d expect a Dane ter look. Tall, blonde, a bit red-nosed from all that Carlsberg beer. We’d have ter ration him a bit I reckoned or we’d be makin’ a few more trips back into Tesco before the festivities end.

By now, all the local beauties had arrived with the rest of the village to witness the arrival of all me mates. Casanundra bounced out behind Dane. His missus was firmly latched onto him. Yer could see from his rovin’ eyes why she was a bit nervous. He looked like a kid in a lolly shop. I reckon his missus would have ter tie him down at night or he might go sleep walkin’.

Union Hill drooped out of the van lookin’ like he'd eaten two viagra and had six shielas along the way. Then his missus followed ‘im out, and it was clear why he looked so worn out. What a stunner! But she looked like she’d eat UH fer breakfast if he wasn’t careful. I made a note ter make sure she was well fed each mealtime.

Lookpapa was next. As yer’d expect with a name like that, he is a kindly lookin’ older bloke, a decade or more than the ol’ Fos anyway. His gray hair down ter ‘is collar framed a bald head. His light blue eyes looked around and yer could see some of the still unmarried shielas goin’ Oooh! and Aaah! I bet he’d be havin’ more fun than a human bein’s allowed ter have durin’ the party.

Last out was BKKSW. With a name like that yer’d think he’d be a big, chunky bloke, but he’s actually slim and tall. His leather jacket over a black T-shirt and black jeans proclaimed his interest in bikes, but yer had ter wonder how he’d ever hold up a Harley with muscles like those. Still, I knew he was a real motor head and he’d surely find some strange lookin’ motors in this neck of the woods.

It took us about an hour ter get the blokes all billeted and out of our hair fer a while. There was a bit of a fight between two shielas over who was gonna take in Lookpapa, but he solved that by grabbin’ the both of them and walkin’ orf up the road, smilin’ and talkin’ as he sweet-talked them inter sharin’ his obvious charms. I envied his smooth manner.

Bluey and me ‘ad just settled down to a couple of relaxin’ tinnies when this bloody great truck and another van pulls up. I yelled out ter Nok ter come and see what they wanted.

Just then a bevy of beauties jump out of the van. Jeez cobbers! Yer should’ve seen these shielas. They was dressed ter the nines in those funny dresses yer only see up in Esarn. Each one was a different pastel color, but they was all flouncy skirts ‘alfway down their thighs, and a bodice decorated in sequins, and boots up ter their knees.

Well, it turns out that this is the entertainment troupe. They waste no time. It’s already startin’ into the evenin’ and the boys unload the truck. They set up a huge stage with twin banks of floor ter ceiling speakers on each side. A band shuffled out lookin’ more asleep than awake and plugged in their instruments. There wasn’t no tuning up. They just launched into the usual cacophony and a coupla minute later a singer ambled out on stage and started wailin’ away. Bluey and me woulda walked out, but the shielas dancin’ on both sides of the stage was mesmerisin’.

Now, when I say these shielas was dancin’ I mean that they was movin’ their legs and arms and wrigglin’ about a bit. But they sure weren’t synchronized. Half the time they was lookin’ at each other fer guidance. The Thai boys in the audience didn’t seem ter mind, though. They kept on goin’ up ter the stage after each song and showerin’ the singer with money, and givin’ the dancers notes with their phone numbers on.

Yer know what they say, don’t ya? When rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it. So that’s exactly what Bluey and me did. We picked a table on the veranda upstairs close to the bar and sat back ter watch. Soon, we was overflowin’ with snacks and beers.

Some of the Stickmanites joined us and the party started heatin’ up. After the first few beers we really didn’t care how bad the band was. As long as we could watch the dancers we were content.

But throughout most of our stay in the village I’d hardly seen Nok. No one seemed ter know where she was. I wasn’t too worried. After all, she probably had plenty ter get organized and I didn’t want ter cramp ‘er style. If only I’d known what was really goin’ on.....

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Finally, the wedding day dawns. The bride is all dressed in her finest Esarn weddin’ gear. Foster is dressed as a typical Esarn groom, and the monks are chantin’. Then all hell breaks loose....

© Copyright 2007 by the author.

Struggling with the Australian slang? We call it Strine. Go here to find out what it all means:
http://www.koalanet.com.au/australian-slang.html
or
http://www.aussieslang.com/slang/australian-slang-a.asp

Great stuff! It is funny to read the descriptions of all the characters, especially given that I've met most of them (as have you, I do believe, Mr. Foreskin).