Hua Hin and a New Home
AFTER A QUICK DETOUR to the Embassy to settle their debt, they made their way to the bus station. The "Blue Bus Station". Why did they call it that? Not because you left feeling low. It must have been because the buses were originally blue. Some of their bodywork is still blue. But often sprayed with a grubby undercoat in readiness for a tidy-up. They should be blue with a broad white stripe running along their midsection. There is a choice of bus colours. The "Orange Bus Station" houses orange vehicles with even more undercoats and is packed with hopeful travellers. Those buses are cheaper but have no air-con, only refreshed by some city fresh air. The "fresh" air enters through open windows. These buses take longer to reach their destination. They have a stop/start policy for picking up travellers en route. The "Blue ones" offer a more direct trip, a more comfortable seat, and air conditioning, except for the bus Kev travelled on the previous day.
'Air, kaput,' said the driver.
They motored to Hua Hin and talked about what they would do in their new home. Nick thought Kev had already set something up, or at least that is what Kev led Nick to believe.
'There is so much going on in Hua Hin; I need you to get a feel for the place before we make any firm decisions.'
Kev had spent his time lying on the beautiful beach, thinking about what type of business they may try. It was not quite the same thing, but it was easy to allow time to float by. He had made a few friends, which could be useful, depending on what kind of business they decided to try.
But, as luck would have it, Kev had heard about one opportunity the day before. He was busy (on the beach) and had not had the chance to check it out. That was not what he told Nick.
'Brilliant, there are loads of things for us to do to earn a decent living then?' said Nick.
'As soon as you are up to it, we can check out the places I have looked at. I have narrowed things down to the best few opportunities.' Kev had his fingers crossed behind his back.
'How about tomorrow?' asked Nick.
Hua Hin was not a big town but flourishing. Gradually, more and more tourists were choosing its quieter atmosphere. The beaches were cleaner than Pattaya, which was a huge plus.
Nobody knew how many inhabitants there were. Hua Hin boasted a wide main road that ran through the town's centre. From the hills in the west to the beach in the east, it had several crossroads, leading north to Bangkok and south to the Provincial Capital of Prachuabkhirikhan.
At the main crossroads was a large square filled with shanty buildings. The inhabitants opened small shops selling souvenirs made of shells. The elderly owner of the square piece of land allowed people to live there for free or very low rent. At the edge of the plot was the only non-shell business, a friendly bar/restaurant. It offered live music played nightly. This busy square summed up the feeling of the town.
Most traffic using Phetchkasem Road was three-wheeled pedal-powered taxis, called samlors, which strangely means "three-wheeled".
Frequent orange and blue buses were motoring through the town centre. They both chucked out noxious black fumes. Pickup trucks were the popular choice for traders, owners of farms and building firms. Rarer still were family saloons.
'Look, Kev, they've got a movie theatre. Do they show Western pictures?'
'No mate, the cinema only shows Thai movies or badly dubbed American pictures.'
Kev hadn't chanced a visit. You risked the unhappy sensation of cockroaches running over your feet. However, a fan of films could enjoy outdoor viewing on the temple grounds. A giant screen was positioned in a dusty open area. People old and young would sit on the ground. Free to enter, great fun, especially when the projector overheats and melts the film. Loud cheers and laughter ring out.
Hua Hin is a fishing town. The scores of boats are, in the main, owner-operated family businesses. The fishermen live very near their craft in wooden homes along the seafront. International-standard four - and five-star hotels had not yet arrived. Plans had been submitted to the council planning department.
'What is that place, with guards on the gates?' asked Nick.
'That is The King's palace, he comes here often, lovely, you can see it better from the beach, we can walk along the sand one day.'
Kev and Nick stayed in an old wooden guest house on one crossroad. It cost 40 Baht per night, so it was cheap enough, and it was run by a friendly family. The guest house boasted forty bedrooms on two floors. It had an unkempt garden, with a large room that could be used as a dining room or a place for a quiet drink. There was also a reception area with a private office.
'I feel at home already,' said a weary Nick, keen to try out his bed.
Kev and Nick had double rooms next to each other on the second floor. They provided a small wardrobe, a vanity table with a chair, and a double bed. The bathroom had running water, not hot but warmish. It was great value and a five-minute walk to the beach.
Kev was scared on his first night there; he showered in the tepid water. Standing in his room, naked, he felt a gentle thump on his back. For a moment, he was stuck; his immediate thought was to jump and dance about. If there was some deadly creature attached to your upper body, what do you do? Was it not better to keep still and hope the beast went away by itself?
If there is a time to talk to yourself, this is it.
'Oh hell, what is it? Does it bite or sting? Must I kill it? Will it kill me? Is it okay to scream in Thailand?'
He then had a great idea: He slid gently over to the vanity table, where he would sneak a look at the mirror. His heart was thumping - at least that meant he was still alive! He slowly and gradually turned from the waist, terrified of what evil beast he might see. Eyes wide, he did not want to look.
It was a giant locust. Kev breathed again. Locusts have nasty, sharp bits on their legs. He told no one about his scare.
The guest house owner loved the English, especially ex-army guys. The British forces were his heroes. He tells all his guests they once broke his leg playing football up in Burma during the Second World War. And because of this, he had the utmost respect for Brits.
Khun Daa, a dapper and sprightly man, much older than he looked. He did not know his actual age. Being born when people rarely registered the birth of their children until they felt like it. He could not do enough to help anyone, so Nick and Kev were to enjoy his local knowledge and experience. He even pointed Kev toward a two-floored building. It, directly opposite the guesthouse, was available to rent and could be used in various ways and divided into units, allowing the chance to let out small areas, small shops or bars. They could use all the area themselves - time for some serious thought.
Nick's first idea was to run a bar. Kev was going for a much less time-consuming and healthier occupation: rentals. Now Kevʼs loosely formed idea was taking shape.
His favourite was to offer various services, such as an estate agency, building repairs, or alterations for that type of enterprise. Using his own sales skills and Nick's building abilities and hard graft, they would be a winner. Sure enough, the next day, Kev, Nick and the guest house owner crossed the road to view the vacant building. It had one main room, airy and spacious. A pair of toilets and an old-fashioned kitchen opened to a small backyard. The garden was dried mud and weeds. Although dusty and needing some repairs, the place seemed perfect for what Kev had in mind. Nick was a handy guy used to working on building sites in and around London; he could soon get the place humming. Kev, well, he talked a good game. They shook hands and had a deal; Kev, Nick and Khun Daa were all pleased with the morning's work.
They planned a small celebration dinner to launch the new business. The guest house owner and his family hosted the meal.
On offer was a selection of dishes: sliced meats hot and spicy, curries hot and spicy, salads cold and tangy. Nick loved it all; the hotter, the better. He surprised his hosts. His ability to stomach hot chillies spicy enough to peel back varnish was scary. Kev tried some; he thought he had swallowed a nuclear warhead. It was as Australian commentator Clive James said: 'Thai food was as though the sun was going down in your throat!'
Kev was gulping bottle after bottle of beer. It was showing, particularly when he missed sitting on his chair by a foot and hitting the floor.
They aided him to his feet and offered the next dish with the promise.
'This one is not spicy.'
It looked and smelled wonderfully different. Although nervous, he immediately took a large spoonful. The first taste was garlic, then chicken flavour. 'Not bad at all,' thought Kev. At last, something he could eat - until he noticed the little hands on his plate.
'What is this,' stammered Kev.
They told him it was a special dish.
A whole frog!
Kev's stammer became a croak. That was the last anyone saw of him that night.