Smiles
May 11th, 2008, 10:38
. . . or 'partner', or 'husband' (that one grates, somehow), or 'lover', or whatever makes you happy calling The Other. I use 'love' because that's the way he addresses me in emails or letters, and in fact that designation was what I got some years ago when I asked him (needful-for-everything-in-it's proper-place westerner that I am) what exactly we were. He looked at me with a quizical expression (" ... like, what the heck are you talking about? ... ") and said ever so simply " ... you are my love ... " (the 'obviously' was left unsaid ... so polite is he). So I run with that, which explains the title.
So here I am back in Canada now for a few months making sure my not-so-well parents are as comfortable and as happy as they can be given the bleak future which is in store for them. I have the luxury now of evaluating the last 6 months of our lives together: and pass on the results to all of you who may be somewhat interested to hearing snippets in the (ongoing) story of Smiles and Suphot, and by extrapolation, perhaps the potential snippets of your life with a Thai love ... if that is your hoped-for future. Hey, even the beloved butterflies may enjoy.
The Thai man of whom I write is 40 years old, a Isaan native of hard scrabble farms ~ in childhood in Buri Ram and for many years now the family has lived in south Surin province, near the Cambodian border.
He's worked in the rice paddies and cashew nut groves and cassava fields of Surin . . . broke his back in the hardwood logging country around Kanchanaburi . . . laying wall and floor tiles at ancient (and crumbling) temples in Ayuttaya . . . learned Thai cooking in a few of the largest restaurants in Bangkok and Rayong . . . drove motorbike taxis among the endless backstreet sois off Sukhumvit Rd out by On Nut and Phra Kanong in Bangkok . . . managed/cooked/bartended at a gay guesthouse in Bangkok (which in fact is where we chanced to meet nearly 8 years ago). Foot masseur with no peer.
I like this shot very much for it takes me far away from the (majority?) obsession with teenage and early 20'ish boys so common on boards like Sawatdee and illustrates that older Thai men can be at least as handsome yet still show off the experience and maturity lines of a life lived in some hardship, yet now perhaps feeling that a somewhat more comfortable future may be looming.
This portrait is the man I know at this point in time of our life together: that sexy little smirk always present, the always-smart dresser, the confident and street-smart intelligence which somehow finagles it's way slyly into a photo if one looks hard enough.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story10.jpg
Now we live together in Hua Hin, about 120 miles south of Bangkok on the Gulf of Thailand, amid the bustling Thai town and the equally as bustling tourist town it becomes from November through March.
On one of the many side trips we take around Hua Hin and environs, I snapped this photo as we were sitting around a crystal clear river (above) coming down from one of the many huge lakes tucked away in the mountains in the Hua Hin/Petchburi/Myanmar border area. This one was especially pretty, and upstream a few dozen meters or so a bunch of Thai teenagers were jumping off a rickety rope bridge hanging from one jungle side to the other.
We were upset that we hadnтАЩt brought any swimming clothes, and vowed to come back to this lovely spot later with all the right equipment. There were a couple of small businesses around which rented large tires or life jackets so one could drift lazily for a few miles down the river (pick up included).
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/DSCF0089.jpg
And for those who doubt ThailandтАЩs beauty (so hard to find sometimes, amongst the plastic bags and other rubbish and detritus the Thais seem determined to fill up their roadside ditches and vacant lots with) . . . just upstream from this river lies a sublime scene, overlooking a great lake, overlooking sad Burma, deep black/blues in the foreground, lightening up gradually into the misty distances:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story6.jpg
And then there's his mother: Strong willed matriarch of the family (like so many in Isaan), she's had 12 children (3 have died) and spends her quiet days now watching the cows and (apparently, at last gossip) tending to a new boyfriend who has taken the place of Suphot's father.
She is always surrounded by a few of her million grandkids (two of them in this photo) and according to Pot her life is now as peaceful as he can remember. She's set up a hammock between two palm trees in one of the family fields and swings and watches that the cows donтАЩt get into the crops . . . as she rests in the shade listening ~ with honking fat-puppy headphones clamped securely to her head ~ to the iPod we got her for Christmas (pre-loaded with lots of Isaan and Lao music).
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story8.jpg
Her and I get along as terrifically as one could expect given the fact that she speaks not a word of english. But my translator is always just around the corner. She dotes over me in her own way and always has the ball of good luck string handy when she notices that the last one has finally rotted away on my wrist.
We took her on a riverboat dinner/cruise last November and a wonderment it was to her, as she stuffed on woolen gloves, toque, and scarf in the chilly Bangkok night. I love this shot of her embedded timidly in the lower left hand corner, eerily immersed in the light of the flash while all around her is dark and twinkling as the dinner boat glides under one of the Chao Praya's great bridges.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/IMG_0932_resize.jpg
Suphot and I go up to Bangkok fairly often (and you should as well, if you have any kind of a heartbeat. ItтАЩs one of the worldтАЩs great cities тАж deserving of exploration). The тАШcompanionshipтАЩ portion of our togetherness has side trips as part and parcel, and is one of the accoutrements of successful relationships. Ask your love where heтАЩd like to go for a 3-day holiday away from dirty dishes, cleaning the hong nam, doing laundry, entertaining visitors day in and day out. And then just go тАж
Shot this pasted-together photograph of the both of us posing in Benjasiri Park. We had just moments before been high up above scoffing down pad thai and boiled chicken over rice at the Emporium Food Court. Stuffed, we sauntered down to the street floor and started wandering through this little green oasis on Sukhumvit Rd.
IтАЩm never a fan of my own photographs.
I usually end up liking one in fifty, often tossing many. But this one I like (and am willing to share in public). I assume the niggling, never-go-away anxiety in Older Dude (60)/Younger Guy (40) centering around тАЬwhatтАЩs-he-see-in-meтАЭ is not all that uncommon, and IтАЩm no exception. But, in this photo I rather like what I see, and in fact for a few small fleeting moments (when I look at it) IтАЩm able to talk myself into believing that heтАЩs not doing so badly after all.
But this dynamic cannot be denied . . . itтАЩs sharp edge dulled somewhat only by us joking about it.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/bothofus3.jpg
On this particular excursion we found ourselves walking around the pathways of this`sweet little park. It was around 5:30 in the afternoon and the place was filling up with loping joggers, roller skaters, and best of all, the Sepak Takraw Boys.
This dangerous game is played by young men: the rules are akin to volleyball, but ~ like football ~ itтАЩs no hands, just feet. These dudes spring into the air and try to kick the ball back over the net to their opponents. They spring very high indeed, and land with quite a force back on the cement court . . . usually, like cats, they manage to right themselves to the ground and land on feet or hands. But sometimes, the force of the kick is great enough to twist them so viciously in mid air enough that they land on a knee, or an elbow, or their ass. Never seen one land on his head, but I donтАЩt doubt it has happened. They are quite fearless, and their bravery in the face of hard cement is as impressive to the eye as is the boy watchin' one can do "on the side" at the courts.
We stopped there at the Sepak Takraw courts and watched for nearly an hour тАж me hoping upon hope on getting a photo of an air-born Thai guy. Many shots were snapped in vain, but a last I got what I hoped for: like a Lippanzer Stallion he was caught, frozen-in-air.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story5.jpg
With that delicious and dynamic photo IтАЩll cut this story off here and post a second part either in this thread or start a serparate one. Too many largish photos (and possibly too many words) in a thread slow it down considerably. And my finger hurts.
IтАЩd like to continue this later with a few thoughts ~ after this length of time together ~ on long term relationships between Thai and farang . . . as well as how these last 7 months have strengthened and enriched what was already a pretty strong partnership.
And the Dark Side as well . . .
Cheers тАж
So here I am back in Canada now for a few months making sure my not-so-well parents are as comfortable and as happy as they can be given the bleak future which is in store for them. I have the luxury now of evaluating the last 6 months of our lives together: and pass on the results to all of you who may be somewhat interested to hearing snippets in the (ongoing) story of Smiles and Suphot, and by extrapolation, perhaps the potential snippets of your life with a Thai love ... if that is your hoped-for future. Hey, even the beloved butterflies may enjoy.
The Thai man of whom I write is 40 years old, a Isaan native of hard scrabble farms ~ in childhood in Buri Ram and for many years now the family has lived in south Surin province, near the Cambodian border.
He's worked in the rice paddies and cashew nut groves and cassava fields of Surin . . . broke his back in the hardwood logging country around Kanchanaburi . . . laying wall and floor tiles at ancient (and crumbling) temples in Ayuttaya . . . learned Thai cooking in a few of the largest restaurants in Bangkok and Rayong . . . drove motorbike taxis among the endless backstreet sois off Sukhumvit Rd out by On Nut and Phra Kanong in Bangkok . . . managed/cooked/bartended at a gay guesthouse in Bangkok (which in fact is where we chanced to meet nearly 8 years ago). Foot masseur with no peer.
I like this shot very much for it takes me far away from the (majority?) obsession with teenage and early 20'ish boys so common on boards like Sawatdee and illustrates that older Thai men can be at least as handsome yet still show off the experience and maturity lines of a life lived in some hardship, yet now perhaps feeling that a somewhat more comfortable future may be looming.
This portrait is the man I know at this point in time of our life together: that sexy little smirk always present, the always-smart dresser, the confident and street-smart intelligence which somehow finagles it's way slyly into a photo if one looks hard enough.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story10.jpg
Now we live together in Hua Hin, about 120 miles south of Bangkok on the Gulf of Thailand, amid the bustling Thai town and the equally as bustling tourist town it becomes from November through March.
On one of the many side trips we take around Hua Hin and environs, I snapped this photo as we were sitting around a crystal clear river (above) coming down from one of the many huge lakes tucked away in the mountains in the Hua Hin/Petchburi/Myanmar border area. This one was especially pretty, and upstream a few dozen meters or so a bunch of Thai teenagers were jumping off a rickety rope bridge hanging from one jungle side to the other.
We were upset that we hadnтАЩt brought any swimming clothes, and vowed to come back to this lovely spot later with all the right equipment. There were a couple of small businesses around which rented large tires or life jackets so one could drift lazily for a few miles down the river (pick up included).
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/DSCF0089.jpg
And for those who doubt ThailandтАЩs beauty (so hard to find sometimes, amongst the plastic bags and other rubbish and detritus the Thais seem determined to fill up their roadside ditches and vacant lots with) . . . just upstream from this river lies a sublime scene, overlooking a great lake, overlooking sad Burma, deep black/blues in the foreground, lightening up gradually into the misty distances:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story6.jpg
And then there's his mother: Strong willed matriarch of the family (like so many in Isaan), she's had 12 children (3 have died) and spends her quiet days now watching the cows and (apparently, at last gossip) tending to a new boyfriend who has taken the place of Suphot's father.
She is always surrounded by a few of her million grandkids (two of them in this photo) and according to Pot her life is now as peaceful as he can remember. She's set up a hammock between two palm trees in one of the family fields and swings and watches that the cows donтАЩt get into the crops . . . as she rests in the shade listening ~ with honking fat-puppy headphones clamped securely to her head ~ to the iPod we got her for Christmas (pre-loaded with lots of Isaan and Lao music).
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story8.jpg
Her and I get along as terrifically as one could expect given the fact that she speaks not a word of english. But my translator is always just around the corner. She dotes over me in her own way and always has the ball of good luck string handy when she notices that the last one has finally rotted away on my wrist.
We took her on a riverboat dinner/cruise last November and a wonderment it was to her, as she stuffed on woolen gloves, toque, and scarf in the chilly Bangkok night. I love this shot of her embedded timidly in the lower left hand corner, eerily immersed in the light of the flash while all around her is dark and twinkling as the dinner boat glides under one of the Chao Praya's great bridges.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/IMG_0932_resize.jpg
Suphot and I go up to Bangkok fairly often (and you should as well, if you have any kind of a heartbeat. ItтАЩs one of the worldтАЩs great cities тАж deserving of exploration). The тАШcompanionshipтАЩ portion of our togetherness has side trips as part and parcel, and is one of the accoutrements of successful relationships. Ask your love where heтАЩd like to go for a 3-day holiday away from dirty dishes, cleaning the hong nam, doing laundry, entertaining visitors day in and day out. And then just go тАж
Shot this pasted-together photograph of the both of us posing in Benjasiri Park. We had just moments before been high up above scoffing down pad thai and boiled chicken over rice at the Emporium Food Court. Stuffed, we sauntered down to the street floor and started wandering through this little green oasis on Sukhumvit Rd.
IтАЩm never a fan of my own photographs.
I usually end up liking one in fifty, often tossing many. But this one I like (and am willing to share in public). I assume the niggling, never-go-away anxiety in Older Dude (60)/Younger Guy (40) centering around тАЬwhatтАЩs-he-see-in-meтАЭ is not all that uncommon, and IтАЩm no exception. But, in this photo I rather like what I see, and in fact for a few small fleeting moments (when I look at it) IтАЩm able to talk myself into believing that heтАЩs not doing so badly after all.
But this dynamic cannot be denied . . . itтАЩs sharp edge dulled somewhat only by us joking about it.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/bothofus3.jpg
On this particular excursion we found ourselves walking around the pathways of this`sweet little park. It was around 5:30 in the afternoon and the place was filling up with loping joggers, roller skaters, and best of all, the Sepak Takraw Boys.
This dangerous game is played by young men: the rules are akin to volleyball, but ~ like football ~ itтАЩs no hands, just feet. These dudes spring into the air and try to kick the ball back over the net to their opponents. They spring very high indeed, and land with quite a force back on the cement court . . . usually, like cats, they manage to right themselves to the ground and land on feet or hands. But sometimes, the force of the kick is great enough to twist them so viciously in mid air enough that they land on a knee, or an elbow, or their ass. Never seen one land on his head, but I donтАЩt doubt it has happened. They are quite fearless, and their bravery in the face of hard cement is as impressive to the eye as is the boy watchin' one can do "on the side" at the courts.
We stopped there at the Sepak Takraw courts and watched for nearly an hour тАж me hoping upon hope on getting a photo of an air-born Thai guy. Many shots were snapped in vain, but a last I got what I hoped for: like a Lippanzer Stallion he was caught, frozen-in-air.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v18/sawatdeephotos/Personal/story5.jpg
With that delicious and dynamic photo IтАЩll cut this story off here and post a second part either in this thread or start a serparate one. Too many largish photos (and possibly too many words) in a thread slow it down considerably. And my finger hurts.
IтАЩd like to continue this later with a few thoughts ~ after this length of time together ~ on long term relationships between Thai and farang . . . as well as how these last 7 months have strengthened and enriched what was already a pretty strong partnership.
And the Dark Side as well . . .
Cheers тАж