MJ Klein

MJ Klein is the creator of Metrofiction.com, and has worked with language as an editor, translator, and writer.

See more at her other site: Metrolingua

A diary from Bangkok

On a boat:

It was the last part of my trip around the world, and I was stuck on a boat with a silly Dutch guy who I called "Dutchy" on one of the klongs in Bangkok.

"Oh isn't this charming," he said with a smile.

I had to acknowledge what he'd said, since he was sitting next to me, and we were the only foreigners on the boat. I wasn't hard of hearing, so I it'd be hard to pretend to ignore him.

"Hmmm," I began, wondering if I should be honest. He was like the other Europeans I'd met: everything in Thailand was cute as a button, even those mangly dogs that walked the streets. "I'm not sure about those people washing their bowls in the water."

I looked over the edge of the boat and saw green foam surrounded by twigs and blobs of brown goo. If those people weren't sick already, they probably would be, and then they'd die, only to be thrown in some ditch, I was sure.

"So quaint," he said, pointing at their shack on stilts. "They always get to see the water."

"Polluted water," I said. "This is their life, all they know. I don't think I'd like that too much."

"Oh, you're such a typical American," he said, then took a picture of a woman washing her baby near a rotting piece of wood at the edge of a broken pier. The woman was wearing a dirty sarong and cut-up t-shirt, and the baby was wearing white powder on his face, and nothing else. "That will be a nice photo."

"How am I typical?" I asked him. All I had was a backpack and one pair of shoes. I never wore makeup, and my hair was nothing more than a buzz cut, much shorter than his, which was shoulder length and blond. No wonder he was in a dream world.

"All Americans think of is comfort," he said, and smiled.

"If that was true, then I wouldn't be here, wouldn't I? At least I notice the reality of how these people live."

"It's so simple, isn't it," he said, and crossed his legs. They were skinny and white, as if he'd been too afraid of the sun to experience it. "But you Americans wouldn't know."

"I think you've been watching too many Beverly Hills movies," I said, and was about to tell him that he should actually visit the U.S. to find out for himself, when we heard a cry coming from the back of the boat.

A guy was yelling in Thai, and people were looking back there, but no one did seemed to know what to do.

"What's happening?" I asked Dutchy, but he shrugged his shoulders.

I saw the Thai guy grab his throat, then bend over. "I think he's choking," I said, and went back there to help him out, but Dutchy stayed put. Now some of the other Thai people were going back there, trying to help the guy.

"Give me your cell phone," I yelled to Dutchy, remembering that earlier he'd called his co-worker at his father's company just before we got on the boat. "We need to call the police." I had the number in my pocket, for emergencies such as this.

But Dutchy just looked at me and said, "We shouldn't interfere in their culture. Cell phones don't fit within these surroundings."

"Come on!" I said. "What's your problem? This guy needs help! You're the only one with a cell phone." I'm sure I was right; the Thais around me looked like they didn't own much more than the sacks of fruit and vegetables they were holding.

The boat worker walked towards Dutchy, which made him reach into his bag. I was so glad he'd finally gotten some sense to hand over his cell phone to the worker. He'd know who to call.

And then one of the passengers held her hands over choking man, and he was getting better. I looked back at Dutchy, who wasn't holding his cell phone but his camera! "What are you doing?" I yelled, "we need to call someone to help!"

"She's healing him," Dutchy said, "I need to get a picture."

The choking stopped, and Dutchy smiled. "That was the best shot of this trip," he said, and put his camera back in his bag. "I'm going to send this picture to my friends. They will be so jealous," he squealed.

"Unlike me," I said, and stayed in the back of the boat. I decided that I wasn't going to stay in the farang ghetto of Khao Sahn Road with the other foreigners anymore. It wasn't much like home.