Trans Bear, Masks and a Scatterbrained Barista!

[Ubon Ratchathani, 6/21/23]

My trip from Pakse, Laos to Ubon Ratchathani, Thailand started at 8AM, where I waited outside the Lankham Hotel to be picked up by a tuk-tuk. By the time I got to the bus station, it was 8:35AM. My bus to Ubon would leave at 9:30AM.

The wait wasn’t unpleasant. Some people ate bánh mì or rice, which they bought from somewhere nearby. The station only had water and soft drinks for sale. I wouldn’t have minded a cup of coffee. Three skinny kittens begged for food at people’s feet. A couple times, one jumped onto a table. They got pinches of bread.

Everyone appeared to be Thai or Lao, except a white couple who turned out to be Spanish, but this, I only found out when I got on the bus, for they sat right behind me.

At the border crossing, both Lao and Thai checkpoints were not overly crowded, so we got through fairly quickly. The middle-aged Thai officer was actually too friendly, for he inserted bits of small talk. We just wanted to get it over with.

Noticing “teacher” on the Spanish man’s entry form, he asked, “What subject?”

“Thai language,” the farang with a man bun answered.

This was so surprising, the official beamed the brightest smile. To prove he wasn’t kidding, the Spaniard switched to Thai, which got them both laughing. Standing in line, we also grinned.

Though this was my fifth visit to Thailand, it was my first entering from Laos. Superficially, these societies are similar, but Thailand is clearly richer, but remember, Laos was destroyed during the Vietnam War, while Thailand benefitted greatly from it. Laos is landlocked and nominally Communist. Thailand attracts millions of sex tourists annually. Laos doesn’t. Most crucially, Thailand purposedly modernized in the late 19th century.

Suddenly, the road got wider and giant portraits of the king appeared. At shopping centers, signs for international chains could be seen. Since it was already past noon, and I had been up since 3AM, I closed my eyes often to rest. I didn’t see too much.

Though Pakse and Ubon are equal in size, the latter feels bigger, starting with its main bus station, which is better organized and appointed than any in Pakse. After a late lunch of Hainanese chicken rice, I hopped onto a motorbike taxi into town. Soon enough, I can rest, I thought.

Since the man spoke no English, I showed him Ubon Hotel on Google Maps. With the Ubon Ratchathani Museum right across the street and the Mun River nearby, it should have been clear where I needed to go.

As we skirted the airport, I should have guessed maybe that nice, cool room with a comfy bed wasn’t around the corner, but after we stopped, he pointed to a building that sort of looked like the Ubon Hotel. I had seen a tiny photo of it online.

If you have ever hired a Thai motorbike taxi guy, you know he’s in hurry to get you there, so he can pick up his next fare. Sitting in the back, you must know how to balance yourself, and focus constantly, to not crack your skull and splatter your brain on that sunbaked pavement. With a backpack and a shoulder bag, I was also top heavy. Plus, I’m older than my age, man.

If I was sitting in a taxi, I could have looked at Google Maps to see where we were going, so why did I hire a daredevil who treated Ubon streets like a velodrome or wall of death? For the much better views, of course. Don’t let anything get between you and life. Actually, I just wanted to save a few pennies.

Standing on that street alone, I realized I was stranded, so there was nothing to do but walk in the right direction. At around 2:30PM in June in this climate, it’s murder to trudge under that nasty sun, but I never saw a taxi until half an hour later. Again, I showed Ubon Hotel on Google Maps. He understood.

I chose Ubon Hotel because an American friend had recommended it. It dates to the Vietnam War, and there’s a night market across the street with Vietnamese food stalls. A check online showed mixed reviews, with many complaining it was simply too old.

Built in the late 60’s, it’s purely functional, with no architectural flourish. Still, it was the best around, with a restaurant on the 9th floor for a steak, Singha Beer and tranquil views. With American and Australian troops stationed at the airbase, many military contractors were in town.

Modern militaries have many cogs, with most soldiers never seeing combat. Online, there’s this reminiscence by John Bemiss, a munition loader in Ubon:

We had house boys that did our laundry and to this day I can remember the rice starch they put in our fatigues. Told them after a while no starch, you would sweat and your fatigues would get all sticky. I wish I could remember the house boys name—nicest guy. He would bring us fresh pineapples and we would grab a bunch of apples from the mess for him as Thais loved apples.

[…]

Rice bugs were something else, we had a line supervisor who had a bungalow and girlfriend down town so during brief down time from loading he had us collecting rice bugs that were attracted to the flight line lights. Thais would roast them or pop their heads off and eat them, never had the courage to try one.

At the reception, I was told a room with air conditioning was 500 bahts [$14.23] and one with just a fan was 350 [$9.96]. If I stayed two weeks, would there be a discount, I asked. To make myself understood, I wrote down “14 days.”

She answered, “14 x 500.”

Fine, give me two days. If the room was OK, I’d stay longer. If it was swarming with cockroaches or haunted by a strangled prostitute, I’d move on.

Since I didn’t have 1,000 Thai bahts, I asked her for the nearest money exchange. “7-11,” she answered. The lady spoke minimal English. I’ll go there, but first, let me put away my stuff, I said. After photocopying my passport, she handed me a key with a miniature bowling pin attached to its ring. I was on the 7th floor.

After I went to the elevator, she ran over to indicate it was not working. “One hour,” she said.

Back at the reception desk, she gave me another room on the 4th floor, the lowest available. I huffed my way upstairs. The room itself was OK. Clean, it had a desk, large mirror, three chairs, fridge and TV. It didn’t smell.

After a shower and change of clothing, I went to the 7-11, but there was no money exchange there, only ATMs. Strolling around for ten minutes, I couldn’t find any place to change money. In Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, there are countless venues for this, including most jewelers.

After a quick bite, I returned to the reception to say I’d pay the next morning, when banks are open. Incredibly, she said I had to pay right then. To prove I wasn’t a deadbeat, I showed her my wallet. I offered to pay in dollars, or leave a few bills as collateral. No, no, I must pay in bahts! But nothing is open, I protested. The lady clearly didn’t have a hospitality management degree. Speaking in Thai, she mentioned some place I could reach with a taxi. Fine, call me a taxi.

Getting on, I had no idea if it was a ride of one, five or ten miles. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. Making the best of it, I thought that at least I was getting an overview of Ubon. We passed Ave Maria School and two temples, but no Vietnamese businesses, so common in Pakse. After crossing a river, I was dropped off at Central Ubon, a shopping center.

Entering, I immediately saw a KFC and McDonald’s, but no directory board. If I can’t find the exchange, maybe I’ll eat some fried chicken, I thought. Hopefully they’ll have some mashed potato, though of the worst kind, with slightly sour gravy.

Then I saw a huge bear, with extra long eyelashes, frilly bikini top in lurid blue and a Gay Pride rainbow flag stuck to it. Playing at its crotch was a masked girl of about seven. Later in town, I would see a banner and a poster announcing Pride Month. By contrast, there are no similar displays in Laos. The first LGBT Pride event in that country was held at the US Embassy in 2012.

On the second floor, I located Twelve Victory Exchange, so all was well, I thought, until I found out they needed my passport, which I had left in my room. A photo of it on my cellphone would not do. It was getting preposterous, and I was dead tired.

Back at Ubon Hotel, I calmly said to the inflexible receptionist, “I have been to many, many countries, and stayed in many, many hotels. This hotel is terrible!” Handing her $40, I continued, “You keep this. Tomorrow, when I pay you in bahts, you give me back this money.” Pointing to the broken elevator, I added, “Look! Your hotel is terrible!”

Finally backing off, she didn’t take my dollars, so I trudged up to my room.

The next morning, I went to a bank just three minutes away by foot, so everything was solved. The bank clerk did forget to return my passport after photocopying it. This, I found out while waiting to get money from a teller. I was starting to see a pattern in Ubon.

Maybe it’s the quality weed they import from Laos? Perhaps it’s the masks many are still fond of wearing? Oxygen deprived for over three years, it’s a miracle they can remember their names. It’s quite possible spike proteins in Jewjabs disturb brain functions and lower their IQ. Though it’s been seven months since their Princess Bajrakitiyabha collapsed and is likely dead, or at least braindead, too many Thais still believe Covid bullshit.

When I paid a second receptionist, she looked perplexed and didn’t even make eye contact. Standing nearby, another employee smiled at me to indicate everything was OK. A tall, chubby girl, she exuded cheerfulness.

Finally, I was able to relax. Near my hotel was a Chinese restaurant, Chiokee, that had been popular with GI’s half a century ago. Checking its menu, I noticed American fried rice was no longer available. Bypassing “Stewed Pork with Chinese Herber,” “Fride Egg” and, most alarmingly, “Mous,” I ordered “Stewed Deef and Rice” for 100 bahts [$2.84]. It’s good comfort food.

Needing boffo joe, I hopped over to Attaroast, three doors away. At 70 bahts for a cappuccino, it was a bit pricey, but the setting was almost elegant, and they were playing Frank Sinatra, Dinah Washington and Sonny Stitt.

Near the door sat a masked couple, each with a drink. A perfect date, of course, is when you wear a toxic face diaper and don’t talk to your partner. I was surprised there wasn’t bullet-proof plexiglass between them. Ordinary plastic can’t stop the Coronavirus.

When I ordered a second cappuccino, the barista forgot I had paid for my first, then forgot to bring me my drink, until, five minutes later, she suddenly remembered.

Coming over, she asked, “You wait your drink?”

“Yes.”

When it was time to leave, I wasn’t sure if the pretty lady wouldn’t leap over the counter to tackle me, for, in her Jewjabbed mind, I hadn’t paid for anything. Looking back to make sure I was safe, I saw her smiling.

With such a disagreeable introduction to Ubon Hotel, I thought it was best I stayed somewhere else, but I’ve just paid for four more nights. Again, there was unnecessary confusion, until the chubby woman showed up. Her eyes smile often. What a lovely lady.

Tired, I just want to stay put. Plus, this is the oldest part of town, so has lots of character. Again, I’m hidden in Attaroast. Today, the music is languorously hip, with a braindead guitar, but at least it’s not loud. Silence is best.

Exporting mass death, Ubon was nourished by it, so prospered, sort of. Isan is still the poorest region of Thailand. Now, it exports tuk-tuk drivers to Bangkok, and bar girls to Pattaya. This region belonged to Laos not that long ago, and most people here still speak Lao. Like most populations throughout history, they were defeated, so must change.

In transit, I haven’t had much time to check news from the USA, but a quick glance this morning showed its social unraveling had only accelerated. In Los Angeles, a McDonald’s was ransacked during a Juneteenth celebration. The beastly scene was so outrageous, one commenter asked, “Is this real?” With feral mobs everywhere, many stores have had to shut down.

As one Philadelphian said to ABC News, “If that is the way it’s gonna go, I don’t know how many stores we’ll have left.”

When Chicago cops responded to a shooting, they were greeted by women twerking in their faces. Such taunting has become a ghetto ritual. Last weekend, 75 Chicagoans were shot, with 13 killed.

In Southeast Asia, such mayhem doesn’t exist, thankfully. Here’s how one American resident of Thailand, Al DuClur, puts it:

I am going to have to take the family to the US for a few years (yikes!) and it is fascinating to see how our son is inundated with warnings from his friends to be careful of blacks. Thais discuss black violence against Asians in the US offline and online. In a culture not run by Jews and White women, people can have frank discussions of easily observed reality while in the US noting black propensity for violent crime is only acknowledged by people labeled Nazis.

One solves nothing by ignoring or denying observable reality. Though every society is guilty of such lapses, only one has made it a religion. Stubbornly stupid from every angle until a most ghastly end, it’s determined to kill itself.

With my lodging and food situations sorted out, I still have a serious problem, one I’m not sure I can solve. After three months of Beerlao, I must settle for Singha or Chang! At the 7-11, I looked but couldn’t find Guinness, only Heineken.

Woe me. That hammer is coming down, hard! Life isn’t fair.

[Ubon Ratchatani, 6/23/23]

[Ubon Ratchatani, 6/22/23]

[Ubon Ratchathani, 6/22/23]

[Ubon Ratchathani, 6/22/23]