Ex-pats like these make me feel like I owe Thailand a big apology

One afternoon in Loei, in an internet café amidst the drone of young Thai computer gamers' simulated machine guns, I was focused on a website when my concentration was interrupted by the smell of smoked cigarettes and liquor. The smell was familiar but distinctly not Thai. It was not the smell of liquor was not the lao kao or Sang Som whiskey, but something else. I looked around me to find the odor and of course, it was a falang.

Next to me was an old bald American hunched in his chair, leaning closely to his monitor and audibly swearing as he furiously clicked at a frozen website. When his fat index finger was tired he reached into his pocket and produced a small bottle of Bacardi and doused the already strong mixed drink in a large plastic cup.

His phone rang. He answered with a loud hello meant to show his disapproval and annoyance with the noise from the Thai kids. It was his wife. He spoke in a shameful mix of Thai and English. “Mai hungry. You gin mahk mahk. Me done, me tell you.” It was not a romantic picture of a love blossoming in spite of a language barrier, but the obvious laziness of a bothered drunk husband, uninterested in his subordinate wife. The few Thai words he barked loudly from his scratchy throat amounted to less than the basic vernacular or a first time Thai vacationer. He had obviously been in Thailand long enough to find a wife and move to the middle of nowhere, but I suppose knowing the local language would put him in position to communicate and thus listen to his wife.

Presumably his daugther, a young girl with pigtails and a bright smile skipped into the shop holding two oddly colored drinks in clear plastic cups. She sipped at her green drink while she offered him the purple drink proudly, with bright eyes. Papa falang was not impressed. Annoyed by the disturbance, he didn’t even try to use words this time. He looked at her and shook his head. He prodded at the purple drink with his finger then shook his hand no. He pointed the same fat finger down in his strong Bacardi mix showing her he already had a beverage. With that the girl’s smile was lost and she walked out of the café to sit alone on a bench with the two drinks.

Mr. Grumpy continued to work as his computer between gulps of liquor, hunting and pecking for his keys. He scowled at the monitor. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His unhappiness obvious, I can't help but wonder, why is he here?