One Last Cut Through Soi Yipun

Thaniva Road, that I've come to know as Soi Yipun

My last afternoon in Bangkok this trip was sunny and quite warm so I was wilting by 4:00pm while walking back to my hotel from the Sala Daeng BTS station via Thaniya Road – a long one-block stretch I call “Soi Yipun", connecting Silom and Suriwong and the closest cut-through from the BTS station. Yipun is the Thai word for Japanese, and as Thaniya’s lined with signage in Japanese for restaurants and clubs targeting Japanese tourists in search of food, alcohol and what can only semi-politely be called “Ping Pong Shows” the nickname made sense to me, so I’ve kept it. Many of my Thai friends know precisely where I’m talking about.

In addition to the ethnocentric nature of the street the other unusual characteristic is its relative dearth of convenience stores. 7-11s and Family Marts are even more plentiful in urban Bangkok than Starbucks are here, if that’s possible; there’s one on almost every corner. The corporate website says there are just over 3,900 of them in Thailand, and most of those are in developed areas, so the concentration is high, but not on Soi Yipun, so I was thirsty while walking along in the harsh sunlight. Had it been one minute past dusk there would’ve been close to 100 venues all plying me with drinks, but not now, and I was thinking of the aircon and cool shower awaiting me a couple of blocks ahead.

“Hello, Boss!” called a somewhat familiar voice, and looking to my left I saw a dark-skinned Thai man hopping off of the planter he’d been perched on and heading over to me. Glancing down at his hands I saw he wasn’t holding one of the gate-folded color brochures featuring young women lined up with stars covering their naughty bits or beaming at you from Jacuzzis that I doubt actually exist. Those guys I know enough from experience to give a wide berth to; knowing if I give them any encouragement at all they’ll follow me for at least a hundred yards, speaking in low tones about things I’d rather not hear about, but that’s another story.

I’d seen this same man yesterday afternoon on Soi Yipun while returning from a lunch date, and had guessed him then to be right about my age. He was pleasant enough – partly by nature and partly from making the same conversation a few thousand times and learning that one does indeed catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Yesterday he followed me for a half-dozen storefronts as I walked along and although it was a somewhat rehearsed conversation on his part it was, as I said, pleasant.

“Where are you from?” he’d asked yesterday, after I’d answered his “Hello, Boss” with a polite “Sawatdee”. “Ah-meh-ree-CAH,” I replied and immediately felt a little ashamed about, having spoken to him much as I would a person of a lower stature or Thai friend I was joking with, as this is how a lesser-educated, non-English speaking Thai might say it. It didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest, though. “Where?”he asked. “California.” “Oh! California!” he said, as though he had family there himself. Using a tactic that has thrown a club tout off of their routine in the past I came back with “What part of Thailand are YOU from?” I don’t think many get this question, and it does seem to break their mental stride; perhaps even pleasing them that someone would ask.

“Bangkok,” said my walking mate, smiling. “Bangkok?” I said, somewhat surprised myself “Really?” Twelve million people in this City of Angels so I certainly shouldn’t have been surprised, but I’ve consistently gotten replies of areas from the great generalized Northeastern area of Issan for so long that when someone doesn’t say “Buriram” or “Khon Kaen” or “Surin” I’m thrown off stride myself. “Really,” he went on “Born in Ratchada and my family is still here.” “Interesting,” I said to myself, more than him. “I haven’t met all that many people who are native Bangkokians… Bangkokonians,” I stumbled over my own mispronunciation. “People born and raised here in Krung Thep.” “You’ve met me,” he said, and then continued a few more paces along with me, while I mopped my forehead and the back of my neck.

“You need a beer!” my friend said, returning to his rehearsed pitch. “Come to my club and have a beer!” “No,” said, just as I had the previous afternoon. Pantomiming drinking from a glass, shaking my head and wagging my index finger as though that could help me communicate with him better and he stopped walking. I stopped also and asked him “How’s business?” “Not good,” he allowed, frowning and shaking his head with an exaggerated concerned look. “It would help if you came to my bar and had a beer!” “I don’t drink alcohol,” I said, somewhat apologetically. “Yes, I remember,” he said, and waving me on my way with a smile he said “See you later!’ He turned to head back to his perch to await the next possibility to some slogging along. Maybe he thought I was going to stop in at “his club” and pay 100 baht for a 7 baht bottle of water, I don’t know – but at least he wasn’t pushy about it. “Chock dee (good luck),” I said to him and walked another 20 feet or so before I stopped.

Turning back, I pulled two 100-baht bills out of my pocket and folded them into quarters, palming them and putting my hands back into the pockets of my shorts and I re-traced my steps. He was already back perched on his planter as I approached him, and he seemed a little puzzled to see I’d returned.

“It IS hot,” I allowed, leaning in towards him and speaking in a conspiratorial tone “and I really would like a beer – but since I won’t have one, maybe you’d have one for me?” I took my hand out of my pocket and offered him the two folded 100 baht notes and again using sign language said to him “YOU have a beer for ME,” patting my chest. He laughed and said “Thank you!” with a small wai, tucking the notes into his shirt pocket. I smiled as I turned back to slog my way along Soi Yipun, thinking again of cold water, aircon and a cool shower.