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Phuket Magazine Vol. 13.1

Where Dreams Come True
For some people, Phuket is the ideal spot for their dream house and the interior of that house is where the dream comes true

Art on the Eighth Latitude
For others, Phuket works its magic, inspiring artists to create.

King’s Cup Review - A Great Regatta
Though breezes were lighter than perfect, the fifteenth regatta proved that the show goes on in any conditions.

Investing in Phuket: A Rock Foundation or Castles in the Sand?
Phuket is not only beautiful but it’s also a safe haven in these

Ice Cream: Thai Style
Ever have ice cream on a hot dog bun? Try it — you might like it, as well as other ice cream novelties as only the Thais can create them.

Soft Lighting, Softer Music and Spicy Thai Cuisine

A Lazy Lunch at Rydges Beach Resort

Expat Diary: Jai Yen. Jai Yen Yen

ARCHIVES:

Jai Yen. Jai Yen Yen
 

By Sam Wilkinson
 

Once the pressure of work was off, he took stock and put his long-term retirement plans into action. His twin sons had careers of their own (Sherman had seen to that) and weren't unduly worried, nor upset when he announced that Moira and he were selling up and moving to Thailand.
 

"That's Dad with his plans." They'd shrug and roll their eyes skyward. "How does Mum put up with it all?"

Sherman, the twins had discovered over the years, always had plans, right down to cleaning out the fish tank: "I've already told you both," he'd say to his then 10-year old boys, as they struggled to catch wriggling and slippery goldfish: "Plan ahead. Plan ahead."

The twins would shrug, fidget, then dive into the shrubbery after the fish, in the forlorn hope that they'd still be alive after Dad's weekly sermon.

Everything went according to plan. By December, he'd sold the house, moving Moira and himself into one of the twin's spare rooms, and he'd booked tickets down to Phuket. Once there, he had a hard time of it. After a month of riding around on his Honda Dream, sun-blistered and parched, he had to reconcile himself to the fact that finding a reasonably priced house by the sea was the equivalent of finding a pristine '56 Chevy for 200 bucks. So, instead of buying his dream house, he rented a villa in a housing park near Chalong.

Once settled in, for the first time in his life he began to drink. For Sherman, drinking was to be handled in the same way as anything he'd ever done in his life. Savagely. The local community - expat and Thai alike - who were forever stumbling across red-faced and verbose Westerners in the myriad drinking haunts of Kata and Patong, soon labeled him Sherman Mao. "Khun Sherman mao leow" (Mr Sherman drunk already). And they'd shrug and fidget, raising their eyes skyward and laugh "Sherman Mao jai rorn" (Sherman Mao has a hot heart).

Then he'd order another round and say, "Know what?" and everyone knew he was buying 15 minutes of their lives again.

He bought a computer, hooked it up to the Internet and surfed relentlessly for days at a time. And that was the end of the drinking. He was bored with people who were too fuzzy in the head to listen to his advice anyway.
Moira, in the meantime, had made friends with the local animal-rescue group, and was busy daily from six in the morning until dusk, feeding stray puppies and trying to find homes for them. She'd arrive back to find her monitor-silhouetted husband at the computer.

"Hey! Seen the tide in Malibu? This site is definitely worth keeping. Moira! Moira? I'm talking to you."
"Yes, Honey," She'd reply as she slopped her husband's papaya salad into a bowl. And the next morning she'd make the double, but solitarily slept-in bed.
 

One morning, while out walking Fritz, his dog, Sherman had a brainwave. He went home, drew up a computerized map of his walk along the beach through the coconut plantation and across a buffalo field, then advertised himself on the Net as an ecotour guide. The response was amazing. Every day, a khaki-clad Sherman would lead up to 20 people around his daily dog walk, pointing sagely to this tree and that, tut-tutting at a passing car's exhaust fumes, imitating birds' mating calls and generally hamming up his conservationist act. He made good money, but pretty soon a whole lot of other people got the same idea, only they also used elephants and jeeps.

Moira adopted two puppies, calling them Sai and Kwah, meaning "left" and "right". She adored them. Thai dogs, she was learning, are so much meeker than their Stateside counterparts. As for Sherman; apart from his daily "ecotour", he rarely went out but as he gradually withdrew from the world, Moira grew up and out into it. She would entertain guests on the veranda and soon locals came to appreciate just how witty she could be, once the "Old Man" was off her back.

"Can someone tell me why the instructions on contact lens boxes are printed so small? And why do North American newscasters always introduce themselves at the end of a broadcast?" She'd laugh to her friends, and tap on Sherman's study window frame to invite him out for a drink with them.
"Hell, no. More important things to do," he'd growl though the mosquito gauze, and turn back to his web site.

As usual, the simple facts of life were obvious to everybody but Sherman. As things stood, his marriage was heading for the rocks and he was living an eco-lie. Sherman wasn't too worried, though. He planned to be out of his computer obsession by the middle of next month and the ecotour was just a hobby to him.

He didn't remember falling asleep at his desk that night in March. All he remembered was the kiss on the cheek - but at what time? Near dawn he discovered a note, propped up against the keyboard, throbbing red and blue in the light of the screensaver. It was mercifully short. Moira and the puppies had left "on a trial basis", and would be in contact regularly. Sherman reflected that it could have been worse and went back to the Ferarri web site.

After three days and nights, he realized the woman was actually serious and set to washing the accumulated mountain of dishes in the sink, then went shopping for Yum-Yum instant noodles. On his way out, he found an electricity bill wedged into the ironwork of the gate. He hadn't a clue how to pay it. Neither did he know how to work the washing machine nor even where to find a replacement for the now-empty gas bottle. Moira had handled all that before. Sherman approached a neighbour who, in turn, asked around for him and found Thanikarn - a laughing-eyed Isarn girl whom he hired as a maid and who set to cleaning the mess up. She soon noticed Sherman's intensity: "Jai yen, jai yen"(Cool heart, cool heart). She'd giggle at his daily rants against CNN and the American President.

Thanikarn took over. She kept the house spotless, fed Sherman and Fritz, laundered and ironed incessantly and flirted mercilessly. Pretty soon he fell for her charms like a ton of bricks. After two dizzy months though, all the fast-diminishing ecotour profits ended up as jewellery on her wrist or went to help a cousin of hers from Udon Thani through university in Bangkok. Then there was The Accident: Thanikarn's brother had apparently crashed the family pickup and desperately needed money to pay his hospital bills. Sherman complied with each request for money, ignoring Moira's warnings, claiming she was just jealous of his new life.

Sure, he was upset when Thanikarn occasionally disappeared for days at a time but was easily placated when she laughed, said again, "Jai yen, jai yen," and explained that she needed to visit an aunt in Phang Nga once in a while.
When she left for good one night with her jewellery and wages, something snapped in Sherman. He railed and raved to all that would listen that Thai people were dishonest and that they should learn Western values and that he'd worked hard and long all his life. It was in the middle of an angry phone call to Moira that felt his chest tighten, the room spin and an indescribable pain shoot through him.

He woke in a hospital bed, Moira anxiously gazing at his ashen face.
"It's your heart. It's odd. Doctor Siriporn kept saying that your heart's too hot and that it needs to cool down. I don't quite get it."

Sherman understood by then, though. A retirement is, after all, a retirement. All the same, though, he bristled and accused the local medical establishment of trying to rob him. Finally, he collapsed back onto his pillow in a fit of sweating and breathlessness. After a long while, his eyes closed in embarrassment, he whispered, "Moira, maybe you and I could make plans. You know? Maybe I could be a little more jai yen with you." But when there was no answer, he opened them again. She was gone.

"Moira? Moira? Where've you gone? I'm talking to you. Nurse? Doctor!

Goddamn women! All the same."