Subversive Thais

On the face of it, much of Bangkok represents the apotheosis of capitalism. Its vast air conditioned malls boast designer shops with names like Prada, Mont Blanc and Bally. American chains are everywhere. The hotels are world class - the Marriott, Hilton and Sheraton compete with the famous Oriental Hotel.

The only fly in the capitalist ointment is the Thai sense of the absurd. For example, Japanese companies based in Bangkok had to give up on the daily singing of their corporate songs because their Thai employees just couldn't keep straight faces.

This morning I was in a large branch of Starbucks in the centre of the city and was given a book for collecting vouchers. I asked the smartly uniformed and extremely pretty senior manageress what it was for and she told me that if I collected 20 vouchers I'd get a special Starbucks planner.

"Yes," she continued adopting a highly portentous tone and pointing dramatically at the trashy thing "one day this could be yours". At this point she was so overcome with a fit of giggles that she had to sit down.

Men in Uniform

Alone in a passage at the vast Bayon complex in Cambodia looking hard at some details on the bas reliefs when a hard-looking Khmer wearing combat fatigues and a police cap strode up to me and presented his badge.

I went into major panic mode thinking that he might be after a bribe in return for not falsely arresting me for damage to the temple - a very serious offence. Knowing the etiqutte in these things, I forced a smile but was damned if I was going to salve his conscience by listening to some hard luck story - he could then maintain the fiction that he was merely presenting with the opportunity to improve my Karma. I went straight to the point and asked "how much?"

I was a bit surprised by the response "$7.50". The amount seemed too small and too exact. I was even more surprised when he opened a sack with a load of police badges. It turns out he wasn't a policeman at all, just a seller of tourist junk.

Yesterday, I was looking at cigars in the duty free (dufry) shop at Siam Reap airport when a hand grabbed my forearm. Turning, I found myself in the grips of an airport security officer. Another bout of panic - had I left my Swiss Army Knife in my hand lugage? Did my face resemble that of some terrorist? Were police marksmen training their weapons on me? One false move and one of those slow motion bullets you see on CSI would start its long journey into my upper left aorta.

Panic of one kind was replaced with panic of another when the firm grip of the law turned into a soft, caressing stroke and an effeminate voice said "You've got lovely skin. Are you married?".