Apparently ‘Masterbato’ was on the shortlist, but ‘Wanko’ is easier to get a handle on so they went with that.
Some shop keepers can be such wankos.
Usually 12 step programs are meant to outline a course of action for recovery from addiction or compulsion.
However, here is a 12 step program designed to do the opposite. If you follow these steps, you will develop obsessive compulsive disorder.
Step 12: Turn off water by touching dirty tap with clean hands. Return to step 1 and clean hands thoroughly as instructed.
Step 2: Dispense soap with elbow. Well, they say that step 2 is always the hardest.
Life insurance? Of course. But it pays to have yourself covered in the case of say, unexpected self-esteem issues.
With Muang Thai, everything is going to be alright.
Photography by contributing retorter Amanda Maddock
The red shirts were out in force… this can only mean one thing here in Thailand – Christmas has arrived! An Xmas parade took place outside my hotel yesterday and it was lovely to kick the festive season off here in Bangkok.
I’m surprised how many people fitted into that one bus.
With only a 0.5% Christian population in the country; they must have all been here celebrating. Impressive too, that they’d co-ordinated themselves to wear red shirts. Sooo Christmassy!
On a serious note however, there seemed to be an element of politics weaved through the yule tide proceedings. I’m no expert in the Thai language, but from what I could gather; those wearing ‘red shirts’ represented Santa’s elves wanting to be freed from the shackles of their oppressive master. A noble cause…
The photo below I think might be Mrs. Claus. She clearly has a military presence and I can only assume uses her combat training to control the elf population.
Also possibly Santa in his pre-beard years.
Some jumped right into the festivities, donning neckerchiefs and coming in fancy dress.
The fancy dress shop only had time to finish 3 riot shields. Also, it was meant to say “SAILOR.”
I had a lovely afternoon getting into the spirit of things and returned to the hotel humming, “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” and “Rudolf the Red Shirt Reindeer.”
When I arrived back however, my Christmas mood was slightly shaken as I received this letter under my door:
“Dear guest. With regards to the Red Shirt’s happening in the nearby area… the situation remains paramount in our minds… please avoid going near the gathering points for your own safety… please rest assured of our intention neither to downplay nor to overstate the matters in the situation and that we take safety of our guests and staff very seriously…”
Wow! What a coincidence that there were two parades on the same afternoon, in the very same area! I’m just so relieved I didn’t come across this other “Red Shirt” gathering… (http://tinyurl.com/282tyvk) My safety might have been breached! I guess you could call it a Christmas miracle. I don’t feel comfortable getting involved in matters of international politics. Never have. Oh no, I’ll stay right out of them and just stick to the things that matter to me most: like, as of today, the plight of the elves…
Merry Christmas everyone. x
My legs let me down today. They often do, but it’s usually due to squatting. Today was different. I was denied entry to the Grand Palace in Bangkok because I showed too much leg. I was told, for the first time in my life: “You must wear pants.”
It was clear that my small shorts were not enough, as several official men shook their fingers and heads at my naked knee caps.
Thailand is known for its “tough on tourist’s trousers” policies. Here is another one they believe in passionately:
It's hard to see-through if you have one of these on your head.
With my legs exposed from the knee down I enjoyed the palace from the roof up, outside the walls and safely hidden behind this lamp post.
And here is the full list, in case you need to know ‘what not to wear’ on your next visit to the Grand Palace in Bangkok.
I can't help but notice "naked" is not on the list.
I will never be in the right place at the right time like this again.
Eating whilst walking is one of my greatest skills. I can eat almost anything on the move. Sandwiches, chicken nuggests, bisque, unshucked oysters – whatever.
But in Japan, my skills are useless. It is considered rude to eat in public and just down right weird to be walking whilst doing it. Talking loudly on public transport, public hugging and using mismatched chopsticks are also big faux pas at which I excel.
I was prepared and aware. Ready to unleash the polite and socially appropriate Japanese man from deep within myself, undetected into Japanese life.
However, one afternoon something happened that I could not have prepared for. An extremely unusual and rarely occurring phenomenon of etiquette.
Here’s how it went down.
I was hungry and far from the hotel in Fukuoka (a great little city in the west of Japan – visit it for Japan’s best Ramen noodles if nothing else). I needed an afternoon snack and the 7/11’s in Japan are legendary, filled with a magnificent array of food stuffs unimaginable to the westerner’s mind.
I picked myself up a classic tuna sushi roll. Knowing the golden rule “it is rude to eat on the street” I walked out of the shop roll in hand, but wanting it to be in roll in mouth. I crouched with an uncertain awkwardness behind the potted bushes as seen to the back of this google street view:
Nibbling away, protected from judgmental eyes by Japanese shrubbery I watched the business men, school girls and well presented ladies in kimonos. A short man trundled past pushing some kind of cart, perhaps aged in his late 50s. I’m fairly sure he was a worker, but I didn’t get a good look. Then, I noticed… Something had silently and accidentally fallen off his cart landing on the wet road. It looked like…
…a small towel! My instincts were to leap forward. “Excuse me! You’ve dropped your small towel!” It was probably his favourite towel! He probably used it to dab his face, or knee backs in the sweltering Japanese heat.
I had to reassess my urges. I had to hold back. I was still mid snack! I couldn’t be seen like this, not here. But I had to act. I stuck the roll in the pocket of my skinny jeans and frantically wiped my mouth and face, hoping to dislodge any remaining pieces of rice or tuna. Stepping out onto the street merging with the pedestrians I was agitated with indecision the towel was now trodden on and squelchy.
What of my fellow pedestrians? There must have been at least 31 other witnesses. Why didn’t they respond? Is there any etiquette for this situation? (I have since googled “how to act if a japanese man drops his towel” and it seems there is not.*) I made eye contact with strangers, looking for help. They dropped their gaze and scurried onwards.
The man whom had dropped his towel was now out of sight. Returning his towel would involve me running through the streets holding a sodden towel, flicking dirty street water onto business men, school girls and well presented ladies in kimonos.
I had missed my chance to do a good deed… I picked a bit of rice from my beard and chewed things over in my mind and mouth.
Later that day, I returned to see if perhaps the man had retraced his steps and been reunited with his beloved towel. But alas:
Now, weeks after the event I’ve come to a forgive myself. The whole matter was the complicated result of over analysis, mixed with cultural confusion. Far too complex for my little Australian mind. I come from a place where we have no etiquette, where you wouldn’t be out of place walking down the streets of Sydney in lycra underpants.**
For all I know, towel accidents might cause awkwardness all over the world and it might not be just a Japanese no no, but a global no no, in any city, in any country of the world. I would urge you to think about this as a global issue, and prepare yourself.
If a man drops his towel, or his anything for that matter… what would you do? What ever it is, don’t eat whilst crouched in the shrubs to avoid weirdness. It’s weird.
*In a delightful turn of events, if you now google “how to act if a japanese man drops his towel” this article comes up.
**some call them, speedos.
The Frost Retort 