Perpetual good or bad luck is something that seems to follow some people you meet on the traveler or expat circuit. It is not something all or even many possess, but a few seem to just be gifted or cursed with it.
Bernard was not a lucky man. Maybe not as unlucky as British Steve, but unlucky nevertheless. Nearly everything he did turned to disaster. Now some will say that luck – good or bad is something you make for yourself. And in Bernard’s case this may be true to some extent. Maybe it was his criminality that had an effect on this; maybe it was his belief in how smart he was that had an effect. It was true that Bernard thought he was smarter than most, and that he could always get one over on others. It was not, however, a trait that sprang to mind when others thought of Bernard whoever those others were. But one thing all would agree on, was that Bernard was unlucky.
Gerry had issues; Gerry was haunted. Neither were going to ever go away. What actually caused the issues or haunting would never ever be known by anyone except Gerry. It is the natural way of some things.
Manchester Andy, now there is someone to remember from the Cowboy days. He had an art degree, two in fact. He was also a real practicing artist producing paintings and sculptures at a prodigious rate. The styles of these were quite conservative and maybe not to everyone’s taste. Not being an artist, I am far too ignorant to know what label or labels to use to name his art, but all in all it wasn’t bad in my opinion.
Andy came to Thailand after finishing his Master’s degree and if I remember correctly a well paying job not connected with art in the United Kingdom. He arrived in Bangkok. with a fresh tourist visa in hand, an expensive backpack and a nice set of clothes. Andy had plans to do the usual “break from life” tour of Asia – Thailand, Philippines, Indonesia, India and Nepal. He actually had no plans after that but intended to head back to the UK and do something with his art. He had made a lot of money from his well paying job, which had been added to buy sale of his artworks and a small inheritance from a distant relative. Andy was set.
Sometimes, though, fate has this way of interfering in the best laid plans and creating a new and different destiny for us.
It was around seventeen or eighteen years ago that I first noticed him, this aging man. Quite exactly how old he was, was hard to tell as he had the start of a curved back and looked constantly at the floor with his bewhiskered jowls hanging from each side of his mouth. His hair was white or silver, but not in a distinguished looking way, but more in a mop of short but unkempt hair hanging over his head and flopping down onto his forehead as he shuffled forward with his brown scuffed sandals around his brown feet and his blue fisherman pants swaying with movement and breeze. His arched back inside his plaid long-sleeved shirt was letting out a little perspiration as he lugged the wide basket containing his collection of about thirty boiled eggs. He manoeuvred from table to table along the stretch of seawall at Laem Than where the young people sat and drank and chatted trying to sell an egg or two or three at each table for the drinkers to snack on. Occasionally he was even successful in getting someone to buy three eggs in a little plastic bag with a small sachet of sauce as he maneuvered surprisingly rapidly between the jovial groups.
And so, after around 18 months of this covid pandemic, things are really not getting any better sitting in a small apartment in Bangkok. Every wander to the supermarket or market to get food is just an exercise in walking past the bankrupt, boarded businesses, the increasing number of homeless and the hordes of beggars if you approach the underground stations. Of course, apart from markets and supermarkets, food stalls and stand-alone necessary shops, nothing is open. Nothing of course except for the shops breaking the rules and massive buildings that will not force closure in their tenants’ operations.
It has been some time since I went back to the Banglamphu area. It was the place I first stayed decades ago when I came to Thailand. Things change.
Back in the day, Khao San was lined with mostly shop house guest houses renting rooms for less than a pound a night. There were a few higher up the market such as the Chart (now a run down looking dingy place to eat and drink, the Marco Polo, which has long since gone and the hotel. Now Khao San is lined with mid-range “hostels” and “guest houses” that look like something from a theme park dedicated to “travellers”, but with every mod-con you would want and of course at a price to match it. Things change.
Back in the day, there was no internet. You had to make international calls from a phone in a shop or post office or send letters. Now there is little need even from the ubiquitously offered wifi. Everyone has a data plan on the array of phones and tablets they carry. I wonder if somehow the romance of travelling has been lost, but I am probably just a relic from an age gone by. And things change.
Back in the day, the alleys running parallel to Khao San Road itself held the most run down and sketchiest of hang-outs, guest houses and characters both local and foreign. Now they are in a market beyond what the original Khao San was itself, or are vast building sites awaiting the next five or six storey building. Things change.
Back in the day, the small local school near Tanao on Khao San Road was surrounded by market stalls selling pirate brand name gear or tape cassettes and within meters of bars. Now the school is surrounded by market stalls selling pirate brand name gear, DVD dance mixes and within meters of bars. Things change but not everything.
Back in the day, there was a beautiful old wooden house on Khao San. Now I find myself sitting in the garden of the house with my wife drinking a single bottle of beer watching the guests of what is now a guest house come and go. Things change.
Yes its that time for moving again. I have to move branches for work. From Korat to Bang Saen is not too far and Bang Saen is a town well known to me and my family as are the staff at work. So this time it should be a relatively easy move. However, working abroad always comes with its little hoops to jump through.
This short post on balance in life, really started as a seed in my mind a few years back after reading the palliative nurse’s article on regrets people have when dying. Every man the palliative nurse worked with regretted working too hard. That is stunning and it gets you thinking. What are the most important things in life? When you lie there dying, what do you regret if anything? And what kind of life or personality leads to a life where you have no regrets?
