The “Old White Men” You Meet In Thailand
The Ubiquitous Stereotype That Never Fails In Southeast Asia
We were at some grungy bar in the old quarter of Chiang Rai when a gaunt local man with a jello arm asked me to play pool. After a couple of minutes of head nodding and pointing, we worked out an agreement: I would provide the coins, and he would provide the odd yet compelling company.
The man was also mute.
He had an impressive method in which he would play, resting the stick on the table with just his right hand. His left arm would hang lifelessly as he brought his head down to aim and then flail like a rope swing when he’d take his shot.
“Don’t you think it would have been better just to amputate it?” I whisper to Bri as the man plays on the other side of the table.
She shushes me and then cheers for my competition as he sinks another ball.
“Traitor,” I whisper under my breath.
I beat the strange man emphatically in both matches.
I don’t believe in pity.
He accepts defeat graciously and gives me a big smile, revealing his lack of teeth before marching his way to the back of the bar to try and plead for a couple of hits from a guy smoking a blunt.
I shrugged and looked over at Bri.
“Well, that in itself makes coming out worth it.”
She agreed.
Back at the bar, an older American man starts conversing with us.
He’s from South Dakota and managed to retire and move out to Thailand after 30 years working for Toyota. I infer that he’s divorced, but he may have never been married at all. I can imagine him in those corporate offices, catching people by the water cooler and killing twenty minutes of their lives each time. Nevertheless, for a couple of backpackers on the road, his company was amusing, so we complied with the small talk.
After a few minutes, Bri and I decided to explore and find another bar. The old man, who we now know as Steve(oh, sweet Steve), gives us a recommendation for later in the night.
“By the way, if you two are looking for anything later, there’s a birthday party happening at one of my favorite bars, and anybody is welcome,” he says.
“That sounds like fun!” Bri responds. “What’s the name of the bar?”
“Oh, it’s kind of a naughty name,” Steve says. “It’s called the 69 Bar.”
His expression momentarily morphed into a lascivious grin. My eyes widened, and I reassessed my initial read of this gentle old man sitting beside us at the bar.
Nevertheless, Bri and I both look at each other as if to say: we are definitely going to the 69 Bar later.
“Sounds like fun, Steve. Maybe we’ll see you there,” I say.
We go on our way to get a few more drinks in the meantime.
Just a block away, we find a smaller establishment hosted by a couple of middle-aged Thai women. It’s modest, with six stools, a couple of tables out front, and decorated with tacky Christmas lights inside. There are a million bars just like it across Thailand, and I’ve grown to love them.
We strike up a conversation with another older gentleman at the bar. His name is Matthew. He’s from the UK, close to retirement, and works for a large memorabilia company’s ASEANA division. He’s never been married. Never had any kids. His life has been on the road essentially since he was out of university.
“You ever regret not having kids?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say regret, but it is something that I would have welcomed if it happened. I’ve lived a really exciting life, so I can’t complain about anything. I do have Sunny, though; she’s my partner’s daughter, and she’s become like my own since her mother and I have been together.”
“That’s great! Where is she tonight? She let you out of the house on your own?” I jab.
“Oh, she’s attending to some things with her family back home near Udon Thani, but we have plans to meet up again and spend some time in Pattaya next week. I’m really looking forward to it.”
I then came to learn about Matthew’s Thai wife. She’s from the poor state of Isaan and has a daughter from a previous marriage. I don’t press much, but any person would consider it an odd arrangement. He lives in Chiang Rai, and she lives in Udon Thani, but they generally meet up in Pattaya.
Having read up on the mastery that takes place between Thai night workers and, sorry, Western middle-aged men, I’m almost certain of Matthew’s situation. Despite this, the way Matthew talks about her and her daughter is surprisingly touching. After 40 years on the road, he’s finally found the closest thing to a family, and though it’s not traditional, it’s fulfilling. His wife is his travel companion, joining him on business trips to Singapore and Hong Kong. His stepdaughter is going to medical school, and he’s incredibly proud of her, lighting up when he talks about her success and how they love to have dinners and joke around when he visits her in Bangkok.
Is he funding his partner’s primary life back in Udon Thani? His unofficial step-daughter’s education in Bangkok?
Most likely.
Did this arrangement first start in a go-go bar in the red-light districts of Pattaya?
Yes, it probably did.
But the more I talk to Matthew, the less I care.
Some of us are lucky to construct a life of fairytale romance.
Others prop up a simulation in the East.
Yet, as I speak to Matthew, it makes me wonder if the two paths can still eventually meet. Love has many different brush strokes — and when we’re young, we judge those strokes harshly — but as we age, the brush strokes begin to look the same. Suddenly, you’re talking to a nice young couple at a bar, expressing how grateful you are for your beautiful wife and daughter, and perhaps the origins of your partnership become irrelevant.
Matthew turned out to be a nice character.
Now, let’s go and check in on Steve.
Turns out 69 Bar is quite the dive.
A bar with plastic tables, random chairs bought from different garage sales, and obnoxiously loud Thai hip-hop music. The thing that sticks out the most, though, is quite literally the Ladyboys that makeup almost half the bar— a bulge in all.
Bri and I were thrilled. This was exactly the kinda place we were looking for.
We find a nice British couple, the only other foreigners in the bar, and share a table with them to discuss our travel stories.
“How did you guys even hear about this place?” Asked the British boyfriend.
“We met this guy named Steve,” I respond. Some old guy from the US that suggested it.”
“Oh cool, where is he?”
Right on cue, a group of people moves away from the bar, revealing Steve sitting on a stool with his legs spread open and a ladyboy tucked between. He’s caressing her breasts with one hand and feeling up her crotch with the other.
“There he is,” I point.
The British couple looks over, immediately overcome with dismay.
Bri and I laugh it up, but then Steve goes in for the kiss, which turns into a face-sucking that brings all of us to shivers. He hears our laughs, pauses his session, and spots us across the bar.
“Aye! What did I tell ya? Naughty, ain't it!” He gives us a thumbs-up, followed by a mischievous smile and an artless wink.
We return the thumbs up and gesture to him to get back to his companion.
“Imagine if that was your Grandpa,” I say to Bri.
She smacks my arm, “Don’t even say that!”
The next morning, Bri and I are walking around town, trying to find a decent coffee shop to cure the horrific hangover caused by the whiskey shots at 69 Bar. As we walk past a convenience store, a man — totally unprovoked — starts a conversation with us.
“Where are you two from?”
Bri and I jump, expecting to avoid any confrontation until we get our coffee.
“Oh…hi. The USA, from Colorado,” responds Bri.
“I’m from Minnesota. Though it’s been over twenty years since I lived there. I lived in Malaysia for, oh, I don’t know, seven years, and then I moved to Bangkok for a couple of years. That city though, let me tell ya, it can break any man. That’s why I’ve lived in Chiang Rai for ten years now. It’s much quieter…well, it used to be anyway. Now, these expat types are overtaking these neighborhoods. Hell, I dare not even go into the square anymore. Still beats Minnesota, though…”
Bri and I both look at each other.
What is happening right now?
As this strange man continued to tell us his life story, I tried to get a read on him. He’s probably in his late fifties. Every article of clothing he’s wearing looks like it’s over a decade old. He wears a woven straw safari hat. A faded shirt from a music festival in Wisconsin. Khaki shorts and leather closed-toe sandals. His bike is the personification of a hobo, a milk crate tied to the back for storage.
“…anyway back home, I was married to a station wagon, but out here, I date Ferraris.”
Bri and I perk up. Okay, now this is getting interesting.
“And let me tell ya, I’m basically a magnet being lowered into a bucket of nails when it comes to women. I can’t be helped. I don’t miss that old broad one bit. Why would I? I can even meet these women online now. Boy, it’s a whole new time, ain’t it? Like the other day, I had a lady come over, and she was much larger than advertised, that’s for sure. She had a hysterectomy, so I say, what the hell, why not? Turns out she was the loudest sex I had ever had. I couldn’t believe it. The next day, I had a note on my door from my neighbor telling me to keep the volume down, or she’ll go to my landlord. I still keep that note on my fridge as a prize possession! Anyway, you two seem like a nice couple. How long are you in town for? Three weeks, oh that’s wonderful. Well, this street here is very popular with the locals. I recommend coming back at night. The sidewalks are lined with food stalls that are all very good. Okay now, I’ve got to head off, I need to go pick up my laundry. It was a pleasure meeting you both. Enjoy your time in Chiang Rai.”
And just like that, in the same hastily fashion he interjected himself into our lives, the old man rode off on his squeaky bike. Bri and I walked away, trying to make sense of this new world that we had somehow intertwined with over the last 24 hours.
“What the fuck is happening?” Bri says.
“I don’t know,” I respond. “But let’s just embrace it. In Thailand, you have the beaches, the food, the temples, and I guess…strange old white men?”
Other essays I’ve written:
