Language Lessons
Bangkok airport, where I am currently sitting, is starting to feel very familiar. I've now been here six times and this, bar an hour's wait on the return from Australia will be the last. Like every international airport it's heaving, full of duty-free stuff that, in most cases, would have been a lot cheaper if you'd bought it in the country proper but, unlike the rest of the Kingdom, it offers singularly uninspiring food. Whereas in every small town train and bus station you can buy, at the very least, some fresh fruit, bottled water and if you're lucky some grilled pork and noodles, airside at the airport offers almost nothing. In a country in which I have never seen sliced bread except in international hotels, I can buy crust-trimmed white bread sandwiches with flattened fillings, sushi that is so orange I'm sure it's been rolled in breadcrumbs, KFC and cakes. I did see a sign to a snack bar upstairs but that very name puts me off: when was the last time you heard of, let alone ate in one? There is a very grand looking Thai Airways restaurant and a pub but even those can't remove the distinct impression that BKK is more Gatwick than Heathrow.
I have two hours to wait and so, having walked the length and breadth of the concourse looking for something if not authentic at least edible, I decided to try and reflect on the last five or so weeks. Thailand is stunningly beautiful, architecturally rich and a foodie paradise but I think I've realised that in order to engage with a country, at least off the very beaten track that is tourism here, I need to have some chance of communicating with its residents and Thai, well, it's just beyond me.
Despite this, my favourite moments have still all involved talking to people, whether stumbling around in a pidgin of Thai and English or simply in English. Annan drove me around Koh Samui for a day to see the various waterfalls and viewpoints not accessible on foot (the island has so many motorcycle accidents that it is the only place in Thailand that can boast a particular head scanner, so there was no way I was riding one) and though the scenery was memorable our conversation was more so. Inbetween stops and starts, he taught me how to count, how to say 'I'm going' and 'how much', the days of the week and the words for mother and father. I don't know who was more amused, him listening to my accent or me playing the equivalent of 'I Spy', pointing at things and asking for their translations. On buses I talked to May, a psychology student who, despite being obsessed with asking me how much she could earn in different countries, was still very interesting and Tee, who worked for an NGO. He was a rarity in Thailand, as far as I was concerned, because he was the only person (out of those I could talk to) who didn't ask me about money (not for it, just how much people had in the UK). Mr Whee, he of Kashmiri commission fame, made me laugh out loud when discussing different religions. As a Buddhist he thinks he should respect all of them. However, he did say that he would find it difficult to follow any faith that stopped him eating a particular food. 'Not eat pork,' he said shaking his head in disbelief at the prospect, 'this is not a happy life.'
My least favourite moments were also caused by communication, or a lack of it. The express laundry that wasn't, threatening to make me miss my train. The songthaew that dumped me in the road because he hadn't understood where I wanted to go. Being misdirected onto the non-express bus, the one that took five hours instead of two and whose route seemed to be the equivalent of driving underneath the motorway, so that every time we stopped (about once every ten minutes) I could look up and rue the moment I got on.
Writing this, I have suddenly realised that if I'd been better equipped in Thai I would have missed some of my best moments as well as some of my worst. I'm not sure what that means, if anything, but sitting here surrounded by every nationality, deafened by the 'Pros Ka' of the tannoy, it suggests to me, thirty minutes before boarding, that language is evidently a fantastic help, but communication is possible with or without it.
On that note I shall bid you au revoir from South-East Asia and I look forward to wishing you G'day from Australia.
I have two hours to wait and so, having walked the length and breadth of the concourse looking for something if not authentic at least edible, I decided to try and reflect on the last five or so weeks. Thailand is stunningly beautiful, architecturally rich and a foodie paradise but I think I've realised that in order to engage with a country, at least off the very beaten track that is tourism here, I need to have some chance of communicating with its residents and Thai, well, it's just beyond me.
Despite this, my favourite moments have still all involved talking to people, whether stumbling around in a pidgin of Thai and English or simply in English. Annan drove me around Koh Samui for a day to see the various waterfalls and viewpoints not accessible on foot (the island has so many motorcycle accidents that it is the only place in Thailand that can boast a particular head scanner, so there was no way I was riding one) and though the scenery was memorable our conversation was more so. Inbetween stops and starts, he taught me how to count, how to say 'I'm going' and 'how much', the days of the week and the words for mother and father. I don't know who was more amused, him listening to my accent or me playing the equivalent of 'I Spy', pointing at things and asking for their translations. On buses I talked to May, a psychology student who, despite being obsessed with asking me how much she could earn in different countries, was still very interesting and Tee, who worked for an NGO. He was a rarity in Thailand, as far as I was concerned, because he was the only person (out of those I could talk to) who didn't ask me about money (not for it, just how much people had in the UK). Mr Whee, he of Kashmiri commission fame, made me laugh out loud when discussing different religions. As a Buddhist he thinks he should respect all of them. However, he did say that he would find it difficult to follow any faith that stopped him eating a particular food. 'Not eat pork,' he said shaking his head in disbelief at the prospect, 'this is not a happy life.'
My least favourite moments were also caused by communication, or a lack of it. The express laundry that wasn't, threatening to make me miss my train. The songthaew that dumped me in the road because he hadn't understood where I wanted to go. Being misdirected onto the non-express bus, the one that took five hours instead of two and whose route seemed to be the equivalent of driving underneath the motorway, so that every time we stopped (about once every ten minutes) I could look up and rue the moment I got on.
Writing this, I have suddenly realised that if I'd been better equipped in Thai I would have missed some of my best moments as well as some of my worst. I'm not sure what that means, if anything, but sitting here surrounded by every nationality, deafened by the 'Pros Ka' of the tannoy, it suggests to me, thirty minutes before boarding, that language is evidently a fantastic help, but communication is possible with or without it.
On that note I shall bid you au revoir from South-East Asia and I look forward to wishing you G'day from Australia.
posted by Louise at 2:08 AM
1 Comments:
You did the right thing, pickle. The snack bar was most definately to be avoided. It was possible to judge that from the smell alone.(Of the food, not the fat westerners inside, btw).
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