“We should move to the front of the boat!” said the British man sitting next to us on our ferry as it tipped to the left. “The boat is clearly overloaded. We should all move to the front!”
He glanced at us and smiled, as if to say I know you agree, too. We smiled back and said “yeah, it’s a little scary.” The man laughed, again announcing that we should move to the bow. He smiled again, this time his gesture saying This is a brilliant idea, isn’t it?
It was a sunny day, the water filled with medium-sized waves that glistened aqua-emerald as they ebbed and broke against the side of our vessel, spilling over and splashing Tara and the other passengers seated to the right of the entrance. We rocked back and forth, our side getting nervously close to the water as the ship tipped to the left. I stood up to avoid getting wet and to calm my mild seasickness. I smiled at Liz, whose torn muscle in her right foot didn’t allow for her to stand on the unsteady surface.
As we tipped closer to the sea again, the farang man motioned for the move once more, this time speaking to his Thai wife/girlfriend/escort. “This is dangerous. Someone should say something.” He continued on this rant for a few more minutes, glancing occasionally at Liz and me for support.
The situation deserved, admittedly, a bit of caution: before we’d left Ko Samet, another ferry had gently crashed into the front of our boat, causing the rope to snap on the other boat that held ours to the dock. The stern of our ship appeared bowed before we left, with the left tail end jutting up at least 20 degrees. Nonetheless, our crowded ferry set off moments after impact as if nothing had happened. The stern still appeared uneven for the first ten minutes until the waves began rocking us side to side.
Despite the water pounding into our ship, the back end appeared to be a bit more level, although it was clearly more weighted than the front. We were still a little wary, but decided that we were in good hands, and we were more than halfway to the Ban Phe pier. Still, the British man continued, this time a bit more disgruntled.
“This is outrageous! There are clearly too many people on this boat. Why would these Thais allow this to happen?” At this point, he stood up and brought his Move Forward Doctrine to a member of the crew, an old Thai woman that had to have been at least 65. Liz and I exchanged knowing glances: first, this woman would not understand any of the English being hurled at her, and second, the British man would ultimately return more frustrated than before since his message could not be conveyed.
We were right; he spoke with his Thai companion for the rest of the ride about our unsafe journey, comparing this to prior over-crowded ferry rides that were obvious death traps.
While this instance may not be extreme, the feeling among many farang men who’ve been living in Thailand for a number of years seems to be one of entitlement and omniscience. There must be something about the revering attitude Thais have towards white foreigners that seems to skew an already self-righteous man to believing he’s a member of the royal family.
The British man on the boat reminds me of two American men Liz and Lauren encountered on their visa run to Laos. They booked a tour that lasted no more than 50 hours—there and back—but took care of all visa processing and lodging. This tour was apparently fairly popular, going on two runs per week, and Liz and Lauren met a number of farang who’d been in Thailand for many years. Everything seemed to be going fine until it was discovered that all the Hollywood DVDs on board were dubbed over in Thai.
That’s when one of the Americans flipped. He berated the bus driver—in English, of course: “This is bullshit! I paid good money for this trip, and the movies are all in Thai?! How stupid can you be?” The bus driver couldn’t understand the English this man was yelling, but he certainly understood that this man was upset. The American eventually slumped back to his seat and, according to Liz, engaged in conversation with another American about how much they hated living in Thailand. They’ve been here for more than 5 years. They’re teachers, a constantly overturning profession. If you hate it so much, why are you still here?
As soon as a farang sets foot in Thailand, it’s clear that they’re “special.” Thais, for the most part, are happy and humbled that a native English-speaker would want to live in their country and help others learn the language, which is a highly valued skill. It’s impossible to ignore your significance in the country; students, colleagues, and townspeople alike constantly thank you for being here, whether said explicitly or not. To me and the CIEE participants, this attention is both welcomed and at times perplexing: yes, we’re here to help out, but we’re not rock stars. We’ll smile, say “mai pen rai,” and continue teaching.
What’s not clear is if, or when, this humility will turn to bitterness.
The two Americans on the bus are perhaps the most overt examples I’ve heard of Westerners having a negative attitude toward Thailand, but they’re not an exception. Farang men who’ve lived here for some time think two things: one, that they know everything there is to know about Thai culture, and two, that they should be rewarded and celebrated because they are foreign, regardless of their actions. More than once I’ve heard stories about native English teachers showing up just before their morning class, only to leave for lunch, and sometimes not return for afternoon classes. This, in any country, is unprofessional. If you signed up to be somewhere from 8 am to 4 pm daily, you should damn well be there from morning til afternoon. Thais are too polite, though, to say anything—I think this is where farang entitlement comes from. Foreigners can break rules that Thais can’t simply because they’re white, and they take advantage of it. If a Thai supervisor did speak up about the teacher’s tardiness, I’m sure the farang would pitch a fit and make unnecessary claims of superiority, something along the lines of “I’m doing you a favor for showing up at all!”
I also get the feelings that a majority of Western men who teach in Thailand for a long time are here for one ulterior motive—Thai women. At the English competition in Chonburi, I met a group of three American men who taught Matthayom in Rayong. One man was married to a Thai woman, and the other two were—how should I put this—akin to someone you’d meet at a seedy bar in DC. They think they’re city slickers, suave and desirable, but they really live in Reston, are greasy and overweight, and tell grandiose stories they think will somehow woo you in to bed. They leafed through the school’s English Program brochures, stopping to ogle the pretty Thai girl in an ad for a hair salon. “You can’t pick up anything here without a picture of a pretty girl!” one said. The other two laughed a bit too much, and I suddenly realized they were thinking about something other than Chonburi’s English Program.
I imagine that most of the Western men who come to Thailand to work, live, and find a Thai wife—like the ones mentioned above—are those who, deep down, know that they can never get that kind of satisfaction at home. In Thailand, they are Brad Pitt; at home, they’re Pauly Shore.
Perhaps the ones who are so jaded are the ones who haven’t found the Thai love of their life yet, but I find it nearly impossible to talk negatively about this country. Sure, it’s swelteringly hot all the time and sure, some things don’t run as efficiently as we’re used to back home, but the people are absurdly friendly and accommodating, especially to foreigners. It’s sad to see someone who’s unhappy with their situation in the West to bring their underlying problems so far away. I doubt it’s always just Thailand they’re unhappy with; maybe their wife cheated on them with their best friend, or they lost their job and ended up living in Aunt Mabel’s basement, hoping to save enough money to buy a plane ticket for their online Russian girlfriend. Whatever the case, these men are clearly searching for an outlet for their problems, whether that means berating a bus driver, scolding an old woman about transportation safety, or passive aggressively complaining in hopes that someone will hear. Escaping to Thailand doesn’t mean escaping from reality. If you’re arrogant but failing at home, you’re going to have that mentality regardless of where you live and how much your Thai girlfriend tells you otherwise.
When we docked at Ban Phe, we had to wait for everyone else to get off the ferry so that Liz could figure out how to hobble across 2 boats to the wooden steps that would take us ashore. The British man and his Thai companion smiled and waved goodbye to us, happily disembarking as if they’d just experienced a luxury dinner cruise rather than a shipwreck waiting to happen.
Never once during the trip did he move himself or his Thai lover to the front of the boat.
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