8
Weeks ahead the boy had asked me if I was free on the 11th of May. I wasn’t used to Thais planning ahead so I didn’t pay much attention to it. But he kept referring to this date and said I had to come to the park at 8am. Then we were going home to his village.
When the day arrived I came to the park with my bag, half expecting him not to be there. But the boy was impatiently waiting for me. He had new shoes. They were 300 baht, he said with pride. The park gardeners were out working in the misty morning air and they made comments about the farang and the boy. We ignored them and went to Mor Chit bus station, which was nearby.
I tried to ask the boy about the details of the trip. Was there a hotel? Did the bus go all the way to the village? How big was the nearby town? How was the family house? The boy told me not to worry. He would take care of me.
The ticket was 99 baht for each of us. I was the only foreigner in the packed bus as it entered the highway to Auythaya. This is an adventure, I thought. I had heard of the visit-the-village trip from others. It was a ritual in any relationship with a Thai boy. Now it was my turn.
The bus stopped in Saraburi and more people came on. Standing room was full too. My seat was small and the air condition wasn’t effective. I was sweating and the children looked curiously at me.
After Saraburi the landscape changed and the flat plains gave way to hills and open valleys. After four hours we arrived in Anyburi, the boy’s home town. It was a provincial town with one main street, a railway station, a market and one 7-Eleven. The boy arranged for a tuk-tuk to take us to the hotel. Maybe a motel would be a better name for it, or a brothel perhaps, it was a one storey building with karaoke ladies sitting in front and parking space in the back. Rooms with air condition were 270 baht.
- How do we get to the village? I asked.
- Go bus, said the boy.
Having checked into our hotel room and taken a shower we went back to the main street to look for the bus. There was an old bus parked by the market but it wasn’t going anywhere.
- We walk, said the boy.
- How far is it?
- Fifteen kilomet.
- I don’t think so!
The boy found another tuk-tuk and we climbed in. The tuk-tuk drove out of town on a road that was surprisingly broad and in good order. We drove along rice fields, herds of cattle and fields with sugar cane. The area was a river valley surrounded by low mountains. After a while the driver turned left to a more bumpy road which led across a railway line and up a hill. I took note of a yellow water tower, the local landmark. At the top of the hill the road split and the tuk-tuk stopped in front of a gate made of wood and wire. There were bushes and trees and I could hardly see the house.
The boy opened the gate. A dog rose and barked at me. Outside the house was an old man sitting under a bamboo roof that gave shade. Under the roof were benches, large planks that one could sit on. The benches ran all four sides of the open structure, which had a fireplace in the middle. Smoke was coming out of the ground, they were cooking something that was buried with burning coal. Wheels from an old ox chart were stored in a corner and under a large basket turned upside down a rooster was peeking out at us.
I had asked the boy who would be home. He said grandmother and grandfather. This had to be the grandfather. If the grandfather was surprised to see me he didn’t show it. He smiled calmly as if strangers from the other side of the world came walking in every day. He had short grey hair and few teeth left.
Following the boy’s instructions I wai’ed and greeted him. The grandfather wai’ed me back as if I were royalty.
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