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What to do about Third Road junctions
Dear Sir,
I wonder whether anyone has given any thought to the problem of the three
major crossing points of the all-new Third Road (which I earlier suggested
was a Grand Prix track)?
The new Third Road, which is now virtually complete, crosses North Road,
Central Road and South Road all of which are very busy, very fast roads. At
the moment it is simply a free-for-all situation with the rudest, most
aggressive drivers obtaining right of way. The problem is, how to control
the junctions?
There is not enough space to construct traffic circles (or roundabouts as
they are called in the U.K.). They probably would not be a good idea anyway
as Thai drivers are not sufficiently disciplined enough to make them work
safely and effectively. My three word definition of anarchy is “Dusit
Traffic Circle”.
The best solution to the problem would be to build flyovers with adequate
slip roads. But, again, there is insufficient space at the three junctions
concerned and furthermore they are very expensive to build.
So that leaves two remedies. The first is to install efficient traffic
lights controlled by the volume of traffic. Ideally all three sets should be
computer linked to maintain a free flow of traffic. But that is wishful
thinking, especially in Pattaya. At the moment there is no evidence to
suggest that traffic lights will be installed. The fourth solution, and the
one most likely to be adopted, is to do sweet nothing! First come first
across, and where is the nearest hospital?
And finally, a very silly question. What on earth is the point of the new
Third Road? (Apart from providing the local idiots with a race track.) It
ends in a full stop at the Crystal Beach which hardly anyone wants to visit.
Ultimately, sometime during the next century, will Third Road continue round
the coast, past the hallowed temple of the Royal Cliff and onto Jomtien and
beyond? I doubt whether anyone in authority knows the answer. But if they
do, I think we should be told!
Yours faithfully,
Oliver W. Minto
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Mai-ben-arai responds
Dear Sir,
Please tell the Former Instructor of Advanced Thai, that I am deeply
grateful and honoured that he replied re. Mai ben arai. (14th February,
1997)
Now my own remarks to Mr. Other Mai Ben Rai, who could be a male chauvinist.
I certainly would not dare to chastise you, nor would I attempt to correct
any spelling or grammatical errors, although, once-upon-a-time, I was a
teacher of the English Language.
In Tasty Treats to which I suppose you were referring, I did not complain
about the misspellings in Thai restaurant menus. They make good-reading
while waiting for service and I certainly admire attempts at giving an
English name to a dish. I expect the elocution, pronunciation was not clear
enough, when the name of a dish was asked and I am sure no one looked it up
in a dictionary. You have to admit that many Thai, who are not versed in the
English language, have difficulty hearing or distinguishing the letters L,
N, R, B, P, even T. Many words starting with Ch, Th, Sh, etc., are
difficult.
I thank you for taking some of your precious time to read my snippets and to
give you good cheer: more than half a century ago, I used to get “minus
zero” marks for dictation!
Sincerely,
Mai-ben-arai
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Lapsus Calami
George Bernard Shaw once said, “England and America are
two countries separated by the same language.”
Pronunciation in any language, Can lead to spelling errors.
Be you a servant or a sage, Speech can create terrors.
You are asked when in “Downunder”, If you came to “DIE?”
“ ‘E was ‘ERE ‘E were” The Cockney is shy.
Thai being a tone language with origin still debated.
Phonetic spelling can’t engage, ‘Cos some letters are not regulated.
Is it ChoLburi or ChoNburi? Can it be AnuponK or AnuponG?
Could it be Lottery or is it Rotary? Which can it be, Ban Bong or Ban Pong?
I used to think that fish was “BA”. “DEGAI” were used for cutting.
“Dork HUK” is the love-flower and “DRA” of my name, no muttering.
At least we should be intelligent, When introduced to a “NONG”
Relationship a bafflement. Wife? Sister? Don’t place her wrong!
In every Country Districts differ. North, South, East and West.
It’s your job to decipher and try to understand the best.
“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.”
(Proverbs 25:11)
Penyang?
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Troubles finding
U-Tapao Airport
Dear Sir,
Orient Thai, Orient Thai, Orient Thai. Yes, we are still seeing signs for
this new airline all over town. Every tour operator is sporting their very
attractive & distinctive sign and they certainly have secured great
advertising space in your newspaper. It’s a pity, therefore, that many of us
just can’t find the airport to try out this wonderful new service.
I left my home in Pattaya a good 2 hours before my flight to Bangkok, having
been told that the drive would take approximately 45 minutes. I have driven
myself all over Europe, Bangkok, etc., and feel I am reasonably competent at
getting around. Just follow the signs, I thought - every airport has them.
How wrong can you be? I asked and I asked. 8 Kms. straight on, 12 miles back
the other way, Oh! It’s very difficult to find, were some of the answers I
received. At 10 minutes before my flight was due to leave, I gave up the
search, telephoned my travel agents, canceled my round trip ticket, got in
my car and came home. My U-Tapao flight was supposed to connect me with a
flight to Hong Kong. This, of course, was not possible and I consequently
lost one night’s accommodation in Hong Kong because I couldn’t get there. I
have since been told that there is just one small sign telling us where the
airport is. However, most people do check out the location the day before or
go with their driver or by taxi. This should not be necessary.
Please Orient Thai, don’t you think it might be a good idea to spend just a
little of your advertising budget on a few road signs or at least supply us
with a map? I for one will not be trying to fly with you again.
P.D.
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On Darling’s behalf
Dear Sir,
In response to your article on James Fraser Darling by Andrew Drummond,
please let me offer the following:
James Fraser Darling is ‘still’ the accused after perhaps nine months in the
Phuket jail. His case is proceeding. Your article correctly states James as
‘an academic with proven educational certification’. He also likes young
boys.
James Darling, an admitted homosexual, was envied for his intellect and
teaching ability. His demise began when his residence was broken into and a
book published in 1914 was offered to police in Phuket as a paedophile
document. The person offering such information was identified as an N.G.O. -
Non Government Organisation ‘official’ expat. He was neither, just seeking
to oust Darling from the teaching position he occupied. The local villagers
were given baht 400 to travel the 10 baht distance to testify that ‘Uncle
Jimmy’ or ‘James’ as you also quote took the young boys out on boats. A nice
ride for the locals!
Please inform all readers of “Pattaya Mail” that James Darling is being
charged of removing minors from their residence, a max penalty of ten years
per charge. To this day the sea gypsy boys at Rawai Phuket still ply their
trade of ferrying foreigners to local islands perhaps one kilometre from the
village. The boys still pose naked and to confirm this statement, James
Darling has offered a local television advertisement showing naked boys as
evidence to his defense.
Be careful when taking local young people to Koh Samet! A far greater
distance than James traveled!
James Darling loved to be with the young boys. He gave them and their
families money and gifts, I do not know what acts James Darling is accused
of committing, but I ask all foreigners and expats reading this column, ‘Try
and fight an accusation from prison, try and fight the police and the courts
from prison!’ Has anyone fought a claim or case outside of prison? That’s an
ordeal in itself!
I do not condone Fraser’s activities but for reality’s sake and common
sense, do not believe in N.G.O.s. They are after easy money from government
grants to go on a ‘witchhunt’ for tourists. Please ask how many Chinese
brothels in Hat Yai have been affronted by the N.G.O.s - do any readers
remember the brothel fire in Tanon Unpon Phuket where three young girls were
burnt to death in chains? The proprietor walks free today!
Stop the paedophiles now, but do it correctly and legally. Stop the
corruption and threats. Stop the expropriation of moneys from people lured
into situations.
Sex is a big business here in Thailand, Phuket is no exception. Do not allow
an N.G.O. to set up strength to obtain money at a wayward foreigner’s
expense. If cases are not presented fairly and true, if corruption and
bribery is not eliminated, beware, it could be you next time you talk to a
young local or take a boat ride.
If Darling is made a scapegoat as the article proposes, ‘a Thai campaign to
round up paedophiles’ then beware all residents from overseas! General
Salang has offered child watch groups a further endorsement of a ‘fair
hearing’. Salang’s instant reaction group have been noted for their fairness
with the six accused drug dealers being shot in the back of the head, god
forbid your enemies report you to Salang!
Please be careful in Pattaya and think about the Darling case. It could be
you.
Yours Sincerely,
‘Sir Lance’
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A hospital patient’s tale
As I was wheeled into what I could only describe as
the O.R. in a M.A.S.H. unit way back in the Korean War, my heart sank.
by Noel (Tippler) Thomas
I am an expatriate and have lived in Pattaya for several
years. Miraculously, I had never before had the need to seek the services of
even a doctor (excepting, of course, the occasional visit to sort out a
small problem down below), let alone a hospital.
That was true up until that fateful day last July.
I had been on a visa run and was returning from Bangkok via taxi. En route
we had no less than seventeen extremely near misses and two confirmed
collisions with other vehicles. Of course, several motor cyclists were sent
to their doom with regularity, but they were deliberate as they were just
for the driver’s personal amusement.
It was just as well that I had a bottle of Duty Free Whisky with me so my
absolute terror was reduced to mild panic as I watched the driver weave in
and out of the busy traffic stream as if trying to emulate Nigel Mansell
with a burning need to visit the toilet half way through a lap in a Grand
Prix.
I began to stop hyperventilating as we approached the turning for Central
Pattaya.
As we made the turn, a truck came hurtling through the red lights (it
transpired that the driver had dropped his brandy and Lippo bottles and was
in the process of searching for them under his seat).
All I can remember of the accident was the initial force of the impact and a
nasty smell emanating from the taxi driver. Then everything went black.
The next thing I knew I was peering up into the face of a nurse and realized
that I was in a hospital bed and was in less than tip-top condition. I
immediately asked for my sunglasses as the sunlight reflection from the
expanse of Plaster of Paris that covered both my legs, and my left arm and
shoulder was blinding.
All of a sudden the two nurses stood to attention as the Ward Sister made a
grand entrance. I instantly recognized her as she lent over the bed,
although she did look a little different wearing a nurse’s uniform as
opposed to her normal evening attire of a St. Trinian’s schoolgirl. Perhaps
she was just a natural when in uniform. She certainly was when out of one.
It was clear to me that she was only moonlighting in the evenings and was
simply supplementing the pittance that the hospital paid her. I was quite
impressed with her industry and for having the sense to realize that the
demand for her nocturnal services would contract with every year that
passed, culminating in her joining the wrinkled scrap heap of once nubile
bodies. Yes, I was pleased to see some positive forward planning in action
as opposed to the usual ‘Who shall I cheat next?’ philosophy.
It was hard to gauge as to whether she recognized me. After all, it had been
a good week since my last session with her and so goodness only knows how
many pairs of buttocks had felt the lash of her hockey stick since then.
She barked a series of instructions in Thai to the young nurses and then her
full attention focused on me. If she did recognize me she certainly did not
show it. Having glanced at my notes she went into that annoyingly
patronizing patter that all nurses seem to have been trained to do. I had
little option but to suffer her inane comments such as: ‘Well, you certainly
have done a good job on yourself, haven’t you’, ‘I bet you wish you had
stayed in Bangkok for another night’, ‘Don’t tell me, you weren’t wearing a
seat-belt’, ‘You’re probably going to find those plaster casts a bit
uncomfortable’.
She continued to pour out similar drivel until she realized that she had not
ascertained as to how I was going to pay the hospital bill. She drew a heavy
sigh of relief when I passed over my Gold Amex card. She gently rubbed it on
her uniform before giving the card an affectionate little kiss.
With a painfully predictable ‘That will do nicely, sir’, she was off like a
shot in the direction of the Cashier’s office. Some fifteen minutes later
she returned with a definite spring in her step. This I took to mean that
the card had checked out.
She then gave me a ‘menu’ of the standard of rooms that were available, the
prices being more than clearly marked in bold type. I decided to settle for
a lesser room. O.K. let the truth be known: I chose to fly cattle class.
As I was wheeled into what I could only describe as the O.R. in a M.A.S.H.
unit way back in the Korean War, my heart sank. I studied the array of
totally wrecked bodies that lay on the nine other beds in the room. This was
a room clearly designed to accommodate no more than four patients, but I
guess the Thai owners had simply decided that their normal, grossly inflated
uplift factor should apply and so ten beds it had to be.
The chap in the bed next to me seemed to be in quite a state and was moaning
like a Scotsman who had just bought a round of drinks. His left leg had been
severed just above the knee, courtesy of his motorcycle having no lights
coupled with a drunken Baht Bus driver who was attempting to remove the
underwear of the female farang passenger as he negotiated the turn from the
Sukhumvit Highway into Tanon Theprasit. I should say that he had been
deliberately parked next to me in the ward at the instigation of the Senior
Orthopaedic Surgeon. I was instructed to and agreed to be as obnoxious to
Som Chai as I had previously been to the nurses who admitted me. They
reckoned this would be a good way to stop him wallowing in self pity. I
didn’t relish the task but decided to comply with the surgeon’s request.
I managed to glean from my neighbour’s rantings that his name was Som Chai
and that he was in extreme pain. No great surprise to discover the latter.
When I asked him as to why he didn’t just ask for more pain killers, he
quietly explained that he only had enough money left to pay for three Q-tips
and, incidentally, why didn’t I sod off. He told me that he was not totally
destitute, it was just that he had been caught ‘on the hop’. I felt it my
duty to point out to him that he would be ‘on the hop’ for the rest of his
life. He was not amused and told me to go and commit unnatural sexual acts
with a rabid dog. Verbally putting him down in an effort to stop him feeling
sorry for himself was from then on no longer a problem.
Lars Gustav in the bed opposite was certainly feeling sorry for himself with
adequate reason, I might add. The pathetic sight of this would-be Viking
wearing about thirty kilos of Plaster of Paris going straight from his toes
to his neck with an iron bar embedded in the plaster between his inner
thighs so as to separate his legs and give his broken back a slim chance of
healing.
Som Chai kept on groaning more loudly so I politely suggested that he shut
his bloody mouth or I would fill it with the recently deposited contents of
my bed-pan. That may seem to be a terrible thing to say but, believe me, Som
Chai was nothing more than a con-merchant. Whenever a nurse came in sight he
would go straight into a groaning fit whereas seconds before he had been
chatting away happily.
As I looked along the room, the scene went from bad to worse. The seven
remaining beds were occupied by the recent passengers in the rear of a
totally unroadworthy pick-up truck. Apparently, a mobile wok driver decided
to do a U-turn on the Sukhumvit Highway but neglected to take account of the
fact that it was a dual carriage-way. Needless to say, the bus wiped out the
mobile wok driver, his wife, four children, plus the compulsory dog that was
balanced against his master’s shoulders.
By all accounts the accident was spectacular. The only survivor was the dog
and I believe it has signed up with Warner Brothers to make a movie. As it
managed to make a safe landing some eighty feet away, I understand that
Christopher Reeve has been commissioned to advise the potential canine star.
Let’s just hope he doesn’t give the dog horse-riding lessons.
After four days in this zoo I was ready to plead insanity if that was the
price it took to get me out of the place.
On the morning of day five I felt remarkably better: I didn’t even chastise
the whinging Som Chai for a full five minutes.
As I saw beams of sunlight cascade through the chinks in the window blinds,
I felt that all was at peace with the world.
I addressed my fellow ‘ward mates’ and told them that it was the perfect day
for a game of cricket. They all looked at me as if I was a complete lunatic,
but I was not deterred. The cricket match was on.
I appointed myself Captain and proceeded to select the team (a difficult
task with only ten in the squad so I had to improvise and thereby veer from
M.C.C. guidelines).
As I looked at the boys across from me, there was little difficulty in
selecting Off Stump, Middle Stump and Leg Stump. Their elevated leg casts
were tailor-made for the purpose.
I studied the expanse of plaster covering ‘The Viking’ and concluded that he
would have to be a sight-screen by default.
The chap with a complete plaster cast on his upper body was a must as wicket
keeper.
As I assigned appropriate patients to their respective functions, it dawned
on me that Som Chai would soon be up for selection.
Before I could say a word, Som Chai came into voice: ‘Don’t worry you guys,
I’ll be short leg!’
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