More cable woes

Dear Sir,
I willingly accept the responsibility of awakening poor, misguided ‘gadfly’ and ‘Shaky Pete’ to the truth regarding Sophon. In addition to the Discovery Channel (its loss was not through negligence on the part of Sophon but was very deliberate) we also lost BBC a few months before. But, we have not lost Indian cricket nor professional wrestling. We can only conclude that they are both still free...
Just recently, there have been a few international tennis tournaments and one big golf tournament available to cable operators. Not even the presence of a half-Thai, superb young golfer was enough to cause them to carry that tournament live.
Surely ‘gadfly’ and Shaky wouldn’t expect Sophon to pay for the programming which they sell us, would they? After all, they are only doing business the Thai way.
An outsider looking in.

Moaning Minto

Dear Sir,
It occurs to me that every time I write to the Pattaya Mail it is a complaint, moan (call it what you will) about some aspect of life in Pattaya. Which is very sad, but does not prevent me from yet again putting pen to paper.
I could not even begin to complain about the idiotic behaviour of people, both Thai and Farang, during this past hellish week known as Songkran. If only certain basic, civilised rules of conduct were observed it would be much more pleasant and safer. I will not bore you with the sad story about a friend of mine who suffered very nasty injuries when he was bombarded with buckets of water as he was riding his motorbike along Soi Buakow one evening. In any case, nobody cares in this city.
Perhaps I should use this opportunity to make public my offer to pay for the construction of a speed bump (known in the UK as a “sleeping policeman” for obvious reasons) on Third Road just outside my small housing estate. Such devices are the only way to slow traffic down to sensible speeds. Last week I witnessed a uniformed policeman on a motorbike being overtaken at a speed way over the legal limit by a boy driving a 100 cc motorbike. The boy looked about 14 years of age; the policeman ignored him completely.
From the ridiculous to the sublime. This evening I started to watch a film on Sophon Cable TV at 9 PM. It was called “Dangerous Minds”. After ninety seconds the screen went blank, and then a football match broadcast by SCTV came on. The teams were Sunderland and Middlesborough. The Sophon so-called network is meant to show films, not football. Their weekly programme certainly failed to mention that a football match would be broadcast on Saturday evening. I agree with the recent letters about Sophon in the Mail: it is no use complaining to them. I tried, and failed, to elucidate from them the reason why Banglamung Cable TV in Naklua is able to pick up BBC World rather well and Sophon can’t.
Please, please, Pattaya Mail won’t you send one of your reporters to put a few points of view and complaints to Sophon?
In hope. Yours faithfully,
Oliver W. Minto

Who needs the tiger?

Editor:
Conservationists across the world are concerned that the developing countries are not making enough effort to protect the plant and animal species threatened with extinction. One example is the recent reports by two NGOs – The Tiger Trust and Environmental Investigation Agency, both based in London – chiding the Indian government for not taking stern action against encroachment by villagers on the tiger’s habitat. The presumption is that somehow not protecting the tiger amounts to a lack of compassion and concern with preserving the species for posterity.
There is an alternative view, however. The Western mind has got used to thinking that man is supreme and has a right to use nature for his own benefit. “God said to them, ‘fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over every living thing that moves on earth,’” proclaims the Bible (Genesis 1.28). The dominion of man extends over the tiger, too. Therefore, for the Western mind, if man wants to watch the tiger, then the tiger must be preserved. Man wants the tiger thus the tiger must survive. Whether the tiger himself wants to survive or not is a non-question.
The Eastern world view is somewhat different. The Hindu principle, for example, is that of assisting every being to its highest potential. When used to build a house, the stone attains its higher potential than lying in a quarry. The use of the tomato by living beings is the realization of its higher potential. It helps the propagation of the tomato. So also for cows. Giving milk was considered to be their higher potential and, therefore, killing them for meat, their lower potential, was decried.
What then is the highest potential of the tiger? The tiger used to rule the jungles. It no longer does. Man rules the jungles now. Previously the tiger decided whether man will enter the jungles. Now man decides whether the tiger will move out of it. The tiger today cannot attain its highest potential of ruling the jungles. To “conserve” it, so to say even in the wild, would amount to denying it its highest potential and reducing it to an item of exhibition.
There was a king named Shajahan in Indian history. He was dethroned and imprisoned in a palace wherefrom he could watch the tomb of his beloved wife Noorjahan. The tiger has similarly been dethroned. He too has been imprisoned in the wildlife parks wherefrom he can survey his erstwhile domain. He is subjected to a yet greater insult. Bus loads of tourists are brought to “watch” him. One who ruled the jungles has been reduced to an object of exhibition. Shajahan was saved from such ignominy. Let us save the tiger from it too. Let us love the tiger by helping hem realize its highest potential and not force him to survive if unable to do so. To force him to live in unnatural conditions, albeit better than those in the zoos and safaris, is not compassion for the tiger but an insult to his being. The “dominion of man” must be compassionate by allowing the tiger to become extinct.
As far as nature is concerned, it has lived with change and with the extinction of species. The dinosaurs became extinct. The Nile, Indus and Euphrates valleys were once full of jungles, now they sustain millions of human beings. The tiger was extirpated in China in the seventies. The jungles and wildlife of the Americas has been sacrificed to build a powerful economy. Nature has borne will all of this. There is no reason why the extinction of the tiger, already nearly complete, should disturb nature any more. I daresay that nature wants the tiger to become extinct but man is working at cross purposes by obstructing that process.
The second aspect of such tirades is that of the conflict between the local communities and the tourists. The local communities living near the protected wildlife areas have little to gain from protecting the tiger. The local villagers compete for land and space and receive no benefit from the tiger, therefore they countenance their slaughter. Moreover, the local villagers want to graze their animals, collect firewood, small timber and bamboo and they want to mine and they want roads to enable them to do so.
It may well be that the income from wildlife tourism may be substantial. However, the difficulty is that such tourist income goes to 5-star hotels and tour operators. How does the local community gain? It s interesting, moreover, that when preservation of forests is at stake the “rights” of the local people takes precedence but when the conservation of tiger is at stake the same rights can be waived away without a demur. Thus, these human settlements become “cancerous growths” when the tiger is at stake.
In reality, there is a conflict of interests between the dollar rich tourists, the 5-star hotels and tour operators on the one hand and the local people on the other. In this conflict of interests the Western pressure is to protect those of the tourists rather than of the local people.
The developing countries but become cautious in falling into such Western traps. Our own tradition is based upon change being an integral part of nature and man being a humble part of nature. Extinction of some species, if the nature so wills it, is nothing catastrophic. There is moreover a real conflict between the interests of the local people and dollar rich tourists. The first responsibility of the government is, needless to say, to their own people.
Dr. Bharat Jhunjhunwala

A NAVY RATING’S TALE

by Noel (Tippler) Thomas

I am a rating in the United States Navy and am fortunate enough to serve on one of the most prestigious aircraft carriers operating in the South Pacific Fleet. I am reluctant to give the name of my ship as it is rumoured that keelhauling as a punishment has not been removed from the US Navy Penal Code. The best part about being based in this part of the world is the fact that Pattaya, situated on the Eastern Seaboard of Thailand, is one of our regular port’s of call. To all the ship’s company, if they are honest about, a visit to Pattaya is better than Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s all rolled into one.
Just in case you have not had the opportunity to visit Pattaya, perhaps it’s better that I recount my very first visit to the resort rather than come across as the know-it-all veteran.
We arrived at Pattaya just after eight p.m. and, as the ship weighed anchor, I anxiously peered across to the shoreline and wondered if all the stories about the delights that Pattaya could offer were really true, as the things I had heard from the old hands did seem a little far-fetched. My hopes were raised considerably after the hour long lecture that the Ship’s Doctor gave us on all sorts of nastiest that we were liable to contract including!
AIDS, Herpes, Syphilis, Gonorrhoea, Crabs, Scabies...... the list ran on. I was comforted by being issued with an industrial sized box of condoms, complete with manual, although I was fast coming to the conclusion that the only way you could walk safely around Pattaya was in a full wet suit complete with snorkel and flippers.
I cannot believe that anyone had a decent night’s sleep that night, particularly in view of the rhythmic grunting noises that were emanating from every direction. Breakfast the following morning was tense, to say the least, as we all waited in anticipation of the names of the initial shore party that would be posted directly after our meal. The vast majority of the Ship’s Company was normally given shore leave without doubt, but there was always that possibility of being excluded from the first wave should unexpected orders from those sitting thousands of miles away at two thousand feet above sea-level dictate that our ship must depart at a moment’s notice. The prospect of being denied my inauguration in this Land of Delight made a fresh crop of zits appear on my chin. This put me into momentary panic, but I was so relieved to see that they all burst when I spotted my name on the bulletin board. Yes, I was on the first wave!
I went to the Heads to make room for lunch and decided to make certain that I was fully prepared for the sortie whilst I was in private. The first condom that I had ever tried on my life catapulted over the partition into ‘Trap Three’, seemingly landing on the newspaper of a particularly nasty type by the name of Chuck O’Hara. He was far from pleased by this unexpected bombardment and vociferously commented that he had almost crapped himself as a result. I was tempted to point out that my missile should therefore be given a vote of thanks, but I decided that it would be wiser to keep quiet.
My second ‘dry run’ ended in similar disaster, the damned thing flicking off over the partition as I struggled to adorn myself in accordance with page three of the manual. This time the mobile prophylactic came to rest in somebody’s tooth-mug containing a set of partial dentures, although I had no idea as to the identity of the gagging person who was clearly having some kind of seizure. At this point I decided to practice no further and concentrated on how I was going to get myself out of this potentially fatal situation. After a couple of minutes, having checked to see that all the cubicles were occupied, I simply shouted at the top of my voice: ‘What dirty bastard did that! Jesus Christ, why do you guys want to throw your condoms away, won’t you be needing them, or don’t you know what they’re for?’
My outburst over, I redressed, flushed the toilet and then braced myself as I opened the door. The monster that was still cleaning his teeth at the basins turned around to glare at me. I held my composure and simply commented that there are some real weird people in the world that somehow get a kick out of throwing used condoms around. The moment the word ‘used’ sunk into his less than generous brain, he deposited the full contents of his stomach into several areas including: the basin, his tooth-mug, his shoes and finally all over his freshly laundered civilian clothes into which he was about to change. I considered it politic to depart in a dignified manner, albeit at the speed of light, just in case my subterfuge was under suspicion.
As it turned out, my escape plan was executed without a hitch: nobody had the faintest idea that I was the phantom prophylactic flicker in the toilet.
My transfer from ship to shore was not until eighteen hundred hours which seemed a lifetime away. I spent the time browsing through my collection of porno mags, paying particular attention to the Asian section, although I found myself preoccupied with my failure to master the art of donning a condom.
As the transfer vessel headed for the shore, I convinced myself that the next attempt would be successful and that everything would be O.K. when the real action started.
I teamed up with my best buddy, a guy by the name of Ricky, and was more than glad for the moral support. Ricky was also a good companion to have as he was a very useful boxer and was never reluctant to demonstrate his skills should the need arise. We disembarked and made our way into town. It was clear that we had underestimated the distance and so we hailed a taxi, known locally as a baht bus (basically it’s a pickup truck with seats in the back), which seemed to be going in the right direction. The taxi then went all around the one way system, dropping off and picking people up at random. We eventually got to a string of bars along the beach road and decided to get off. I paid the US$10 fare that the driver demanded and we walked down the street. Within seconds, we found ourselves in this dimly lit night club type place having been literally dragged in by two girls whose only knowledge of English seemed to be:’ Come inside please! You like me? I like you too much already. I make you happy, sure’.
Moments later we each had a bikini clad hostess perched on our laps. We yielded to the constant demands for us to buy drinks for them and their unlimited supply of ‘friends’ that kept arriving in procession, yet we were later to regret our generosity.
I hadn’t really fancied my girl at first, but, after six beers followed by four large Bourbons, I realised that she was the most beautiful girl on earth. Not really understanding as to what was going on, I didn’t resist her when she led me by the hand into a backroom.
Now, I accept that I’m not exactly Harvard material as far as the intellectual side goes, but I had a strong inkling that the young lady had ideas alongside my own, which took me completely by surprise. All she had repeatedly kept asking me was: ‘You want boom-sing with me?’. Having never heard of this ‘boom-sing’ drink before, I had been careful to decline each time she asked. However, given that she had clearly fallen for my masculine charms, I decided to sample the beverage. It just seemed a little odd that we had to go into another room to partake of the brew.
All of a sudden I found myself flung into the shower, having been stripped naked by an expert. She joined me seconds later and proceeded to wash every part of my body more thoroughly than I was capable of doing to myself. We were soon on the bed together and there was no doubt that it was now time for action.
I retrieved a condom from the pocket of my trousers and set about putting it on was the distinctive sound that broke the silence of the room as the condom launched itself off in the direct direction of one of wall-unit the light bulbs. Upon impact the bulb exploded and showered us both with tiny fragments of glass ( I have since discovered that I was trying to put the condom on the wrong way round). The girl seemed quite unperturbed at my ineptitude and simply commented: ‘Never mind, I do for you myself’. She then produced a range of condoms from her handbag and asked me to choose a flavour. Quite frankly, it struck me that whatever she had in mind probably suggested that the choice of flavour was of more interest to her than me. Regardless, I opted for cherry which caused her to whoop with delight as she explained that it was her favourite. She expertly secured the cherry flavoured condom in its rightful place with consummate ease and I was sorely tempted to seek advice on the task but did not as I suspected it was probably a well kept industry secret. She set about her business with relish, causing me to stop her mid-stroke as I did not want the main event to be cut short. At last the moment had come but, tragically, so did I in the space of three seconds. I tried to convince the girl to let me have a post-coital cigarette so that I could recuperate before trying again. I even guaranteed her that I would definitely last for at least five seconds if given another chance. I also proposed that she should try the lemon flavoured condom for our next session.
She was having none of it. In a trice she was back in the bikini and adjusting her make-up. Despite my protestations, I was back in the main room before I knew what was happening, having parted company with US$100 for my three seconds of pleasure. I sat down with Ricky who told me that he had just had a very similar experience in the adjacent room to myself. The only apparent difference was that Ricky’s girl went for the blackberry flavour as it reminded her of her previous client whom she purported to love dearly, despite the fact she had known him for less than twenty minutes.
We decided to leave and called for the bill. We were charged US$ 250 for our drinks and ‘room charge’ which made Ricky and I sit in sheer disbelief for a full five minutes, wondering if we would be issued shares in the establishment. We were soon to understand the reality of the situation when the owner threw us out for not buying further drinks.
We fell out into the street and made for South Pattaya, ending up at a place called the Marine Bar. This place is something like a warehouse with a side wall ripped off . The centrepiece is a boxing ring where kick-boxing fights are held each evening. The combatants are usually local Thai boxers, but when the US. Navy is in town, things can change.
We watched a number of bouts as we swilled down countless beers. After some time Ricky went off to the toilet, muttering something about needing to lose three litres. Two further bouts were fought, but there was still no sign of Ricky. As I got up to go and look for him, he leapt into the ring in full boxing attire. I had a word with one of the corner men who advised me that Ricky had challenged a Thai boxer to a fight and it was game on. I knew that Ricky could handle himself, but I had a strange feeling that he may be making a big mistake. I felt a little easier when I saw Ricky’s 180 pound, fully fit and muscular frame square up against the Thai boxer. Ricky’s opponent stood at five feet and two inches, weighing in at 90 pounds. The chap looked as though he could do with a good meal: I’ve seen more fat on a greasy chip than on him. Ricky fared pretty well for the first two rounds, but he was punching fresh air for most of the time as his diminutive opponent ducked and dived with expertise. It was clear that Ricky was way ahead on points, but it almost seemed that the Thai man was holding back. As I looked around the ring I could not help but notice the amount of betting money that changing hands: even the referee was having a dabble.
Just before the third and final round started, I spotted four German gentlemen speaking to the Thai boxer as they waved wads of banknotes in his face. The bell sounded and the boxers went to battle. I looked on in horror as the defensive, ostensibly worried Thai boxer that we had watched for two rounds had somehow transformed himself into a whirling dervish. Kicks began pounding into Ricky’s head from every angle, supported by a volley of well placed punches to the body which clearly caused more than a little discomfort to the recipient. Within thirty seconds Ricky was in a heap on the canvas and probably in need of a blood transfusion. It was then that the US. Military Police arrived which prompted about one hundred and fifty American servicemen to run for cover. Unbeknown to me, the Marine Bar was off limits to us, although I swear I was never told. As I went to Ricky’s aid as the victor danced around in triumph, two M.P.’s jumped on me and dragged me off to the meat-wagon in hand-cuffs. There was no doubt that my first visit to Pattaya was over. I politely apologised to the Sergeant and explained that I was unaware of the Marine Bar restriction. He calmly responded by beating me unconscious with his baton. I awoke when they bundled me on to the transfer boat and was thankful for the help of my shipmates. Ricky was stretched on, but the Medics assured me that he would be out of his coma within a month. I exchanged experiences with the other guys during the crossing and was more than a little irked at some of the things I discovered. It transpired that Ricky and I had been taken for suckers at every point.
The taxi ride for which we paid $10 should have cost fifty cents; taking the girl for which I paid $100 should have cost $20; the drinks etc. for which we paid $250 should have cost no more than $50.
Please don’t be put off from visiting Pattaya by my tale of woe as it really is a great place. Just be very wary and try to speak to someone who knows the ropes before you go.
Good luck!

More cable woes

Moaning Minto

Who needs the tiger?

A NAVY RATING’S TALE