What Brought You To Thailand?
By Marc Holt

Over the years, I’ve met many men who have come here to Thailand to live. Most come here expecting to stay. I didn’t. 

I have been coming to Thailand since 1963, so I had a pretty good idea about the country, customs and people. When I was living in Australia and New Zealand, I kept dreaming about palm trees and hot tropical weather, cute Asian girls, and that fabulous Asian food. Despite this, I never thought I would end up living here. 

Leaving Australia, I planned to travel over the hippy trail that stretched across Asia, the Middle East and Europe all the way to London. I wanted to go back to England, the country I was born in. I thought I might stay there a few years and then return to Australia. Basically, I just wanted to do some traveling before I settled down. If only I had known! 

I set out by plane from Sydney after a long drive down from Townsville where I had been working in a local radio station for a few years. The trip down was interesting. I was accompanied by a French musician. We had written some songs together and we thought we might find a recording contract in Sydney. He brought along his girlfriend, a pretty blonde who had left her husband to be with Frenchy. My companion was an alcoholic girl who had asked me to take her back to Sydney so that she could dry out and get her life together. We were a strange bunch. 

I dropped her off at her grateful parents place, then went to stay with some friends. Frenchy and I made the rounds of the record companies and soon realized it was going to be a long haul. The recording contract wasn’t going to just fall into our laps. 

About then, I decided perhaps I would have a better chance in London, so I started planning a trip over there.  

Frenchy went to the north shore and shacked up with his blonde. But that didn’t last long. Angry husband had chased them down and I believe there was quite a scene when he arrived. I never found out what happened. I wasn’t going to get involved. 

Meanwhile, I packed my bags, sold my van and bought my ticket. I had a Ford Transit that I had stuck a Ford V8 into. Outside, she looked bog standard. But there was a huge nacelle beside the driver’s seat with an automatic stick poking out the top. I used to enjoy challenging the young hoons to a drag when they pulled up beside me at the lights. The look on their faces must have been something. I never saw it. I was already zooming up the road, wa-a-a-a-y ahead of them. 

I hated parting with that van. I’d traveled a long way in her, fitted her out with a big bed, storage space and even a small kitchen. But she paid for my airfare as far as Bali, plus a fair bit of spending money for the trip. 

I got off the plane in Bali and spent the next year traveling around Asia. By then I thought it was time to continue my journey overland to London so I flew into Bangkok one day, ready to buy my onward ticket.  

There was no way I was leaving Bangkok though without spending a few days in Patpong. Ah, the good old Pong. Back then, the best bars were Mississippi Queen and Lucy’s Tiger Den. There were a few others, but those were the two I spent most of the week in. The girls in Mississippi had the longest legs I’d ever seen, stretching all the way up to their armpits. I couldn’t get enough.  

I got to know a few of them during that week. We all went out to party after they finished work. I was getting hooked, but I wasn’t admitting it to myself….yet. 

The day before I was due to fly out I went to see a local businessman to see if I could collect on a debt someone owed me. He ended up offering me a job. At first I wasn’t too interested. I already had my ticket to London. My bags were packed and I was ready to fly. 

He left the offer open. 

“Go back to your hotel and think about it. If you want the job, call me. It’s yours.” 

That man was Bill Ogan, the father of the famous actor and singer, Billy Ogan. 

Back at the Malaysia Hotel I sat on the bed and weighed up my options. This was in the days before Khao San Road. The Malaysia Hotel was the place for overland travelers to stay. The notice board downstairs was packed with notes from travelers trying to contact each other, find cheap tickets, asking for advice on destinations. These days, the Malaysia has gone a bit swish. But back then it was more BO and long hair. 

I sat on my hotel bed and reviewed the options for continuing my journey to the UK. They weren’t looking very good. I counted off the cold, wet weather, no job awaiting me, I didn’t know anyone. This was just before Maggie Thatcher came to power. The Labor government was tottering all over the place. The country was in a mess. 

On the other hand, Thailand definitely looked good. I had a firm job offer, and there were the three Hots: Hot Weather, Hot Food, Hot Women. 

It didn’t take me long to decide. I picked up the phone and called Bill and muttered those fateful words. “I’ll take the job.”  

The idea was, I thought, only to work for Bill for a few months and then continue my journey west.  

Things didn’t work out that way. I was having fun building up his Bangkok This Week magazine. It went from a black and white rag printed on newsprint to a full colour glossy cover and better paper inside in the 12 months I worked for Bill. The advertising revenue increased by more than 500%. It wasn’t all my work, but I did contribute a fair portion of that success. 

During this time, I was living in a one-room apartment on Suriwong Road. I met a few Thais in the building and started learning Thai with them. We would take a bottle of Mekhong, some Coke and soda, and my guitar up to the flat roof and sit up there under the stars eating, drinking, singing and learning Thai. 

The AUA couldn’t match that, and the price was right. I was soon able to converse enough to get myself into trouble if I wanted to. My tutors included Thai culture lessons too, so getting in trouble ended up not even being an option.  

The more I learned about Thailand, the deeper I got into my job, and the more friends I made, the harder it was becoming to leave. Besides, I was having a ball in Patpong, and in one little bar across the road next to the Manhora Hotel. It was run by this jolly Swedish bloke and he had a stable of stunning women working in the bar. I took a shine to one of them and we indulged in some imaginative pornographic sessions; which was serendipitous, as her name was Porn. Ah! What a gal. 

Before I knew it, twelve months had passed and I had decided to stick around. That first year was fun, but also tough. In those days overcoming the culture shock barrier was much harder. There were fewer foreigners in town. Most of us soon got to know each other. Some are still here today and a few are still good friends. Others didn’t last long. 

There was one British bloke, a real hot head. He was having a hard time fitting into the Thai culture. He would blow up for the slightest thing at the office, and when he went out he would sometimes get into fights.  

One night he went drinking at one of the few bars in Soi Cowboy back then. He got very drunk and wandered out into the middle of Soi Asoke where he was run down and killed. No one is sure to this day whether it was a genuine accident or if he was murdered. It didn’t make much difference. He wouldn’t have to worry about overcoming culture shock any more. 

That was a sobering lesson and I took it. I realized that getting mad at Thais is not a good idea. After that, I found myself adjusting very well and that is why I have managed to stay here in amazing Thailand for so long. But with all the problems erupting around us these days, who knows how much longer I will feel that way?  

 

Stickman's thoughts:

I can’t put my finger on what it is, but there is something about this submission that I really like.  I think it would make a magical star to a book about your life in Thailand.  You know, if you put together all of your submissions and other writings and did some editing, you would have a GREAT book.  A REAL book of stories about an expat's adventures...  I reckon you could edit it over a couple of weeks and seriously, there would be a real interesting book.  "The Three Decade Man".  Seriously, you should think about it....
 

Marc can be contacted on sales@aardvarkzone.com. Visit his blog at www.aardvarkzone.com/holtblog 
 
The author of this website, NOT this article, can be contacted at: stickmanbangkok@gmail.com.