I went to Ghadafi’s for dinner last night, as has become my habit. The staff invited me to a beach party planned for later that night. The location was a strip of shore not far from my house. I was flattered by the invitation, especially since I am a "farangue" (the Thai word for foreigner) and this was an employee’s party. I had little heart for it and was tired from a full day’s work. The staff was persistent and took turns trying to make me understand the wonderful food and great fun in store. Well, it didn't sound like something I wanted to do, but the look in Khun Ghadfi’s eye was pleading and inviting... I nodded assent and asked him if I could bring a bottle of whiskey... "Oh yes... most welcomed," he nodded vigorously. That surprised me, given the highly religious atmosphere of this predominantly Muslim Thai community. Okay... I bought a bottle of Scotch whiskey on my walk home and decided that making an appearance at the party, if only to deliver the bottle, was the right thing to do. The party was scheduled for 11 PM -- that’s when I left my house. (Many people stay up late and even all night here, as in most tropical countries.)

I started down the steep hill leading to the beach. Halfway down the hill, I noticed a number of Thai men sitting on their haunches in a grove of trees. They were wonderfully focused and intent on something in the middle of their circle. The scene piqued my curiosity, so I walked through the brush to see what they were up to. I recognized one of them as a waiter from Ghadafi’s. I looked into the circle and saw an odd game board fashioned out of a ragged piece of bleached plywood driftwood; it was scratched and penciled in a patchwork grid design. The playing pieces were bottle caps, and it didn't take long for me to discern that one player’s pieces were 'heads up" bottle caps and the opponent’s were "heads down." I watched the play for a few minutes and then realized in amazement that they were playing the ancient and familiar game of checkers! I was expecting an indiscernible game of oriental origin, but there was no doubt that it was checkers being played on a piece of decorated driftwood with bottle cap pieces. I cried. I didn't cry a little tear hanging in the corner of my eye -- I cried with a wetness that would have been easy to see in a better light. Another lesson was before my eyes and confronting my American mores.

The game... the wit... the prowess... completely devoid of trappings and convenience. The impact of it shattered me and summed up something that has been intruding my awareness since I arrived in this mysterious place. The game, the wit, the prowess is so much more important than the playing field.

My friend the waiter (I have yet to learn his name) won the match. He might as well have won the Superbowl or the New York lottery... he was proud and walked away from the circle of men, the piece of driftwood, and his cleverly placed bottle caps, with enough pride and personal wealth to pale the richest monarch. I saw it.... I cried over it, but it wasn't the last time I would cry that night.

[I would give anything to own that scratched piece of rotting plywood. I imagined myself going into town to buy a new pasteboard checkerboard with real plastic pieces and then return to the hill and con the men into trading me their splintered and ragged board for the best glitter money can buy. I would then become the great white American anthropologist putting still another conversation-worthy piece in my glass case, but who would win? Would either of us end up with something better? Is curiosity a fair trade for integrity? It's a self-answering question.]

I left the midnight checkers game and walked my glowing heart the rest of the way down the hill to the beach. It is the most popular beach on the island and close to many hotels. (I think it is very thoughtful of nature to put its best achievements close to hotels and shopping districts.) It is also the worst beach on the island. Its water is polluted (despite a crystal clear appearance) and the sand is covered with human bodies when the sun shines, but few come to the beach at midnight and it’s close to the restaurant, so it’s the perfect location for a late night employee picnic.

I walked off the road onto the wide sidewalk (a kind of cement boardwalk) that borders the kilometers of dim and flickering fluorescent street lights, lounge chairs, umbrellas and an endless parade of scavenging dogs. My eyes combed the beach for my fellow picnickers, but there were no people to be seen anywhere. I scanned the sidewalk and noticed five people on their haunches next to a fire against a cement wall. They looked like hobos under a bridge. I walked cautiously towards them. One man was just finishing cutting a five-gallon tin can in half and another was stoking a coal fire in a bucket. Another man was bending and folding wire mesh into a shape that would cover the halved tin can. Instant kitchen. They noticed me. They were my friends and I had found the picnic, not on the beach, but on the sidewalk.

More men and women showed up, but mysteriously -- I heard no vehicles and never saw anyone arrive, but the crowd kept growing. Someone produced black plastic and laid it carefully on the sidewalk, covering a large area of the cement that was still giving up the day’s heat. The plastic was no sooner down than shoes and sandals were kicked aside and I was motioned into a cross-legged sitting position in a growing circle of laughing people. It was now impossible for me to make a weak excuse and leave. Suddenly -- unexpectedly -- it was our home, as permanent a home as I've ever had. It was full of love and happiness and completely devoid of threats or judgements. The only two rules were 1. Take off your shoes to show respect for our home and, 2. Be there... be nowhere else but there. I felt it. I was there. Again, I cried.

A can of some kind of cold drink was pushed into my hand and everyone looked at me and gestured with drinking motions. (They are so civil and matter-of-fact about my deafness, and it is a marvel to me that I understand almost everything they say, despite the fact that I hear very little and cannot yet speak more than a tourist-Thai.) My first gulp from the sweating can was bitter and strange and I managed not to screw-up my face -- I didn't want to take just an impolite testing sip. I read the label (it had some English writing on it) and saw that it was a Japanese sake and fermented lemon beverage. Its taste didn't betray its potency and I could feel warmth in my belly after only half a can. My bottle of Johnny Walker was placed near the edge of the plastic without thanks or ceremony. I decided the whiskey was a poor choice on my part and that a case of beer (or mango-flavored sake) would have been more appropriate. Plates of peanuts appeared and handfuls of them were quickly shucked and eaten. I thought peanuts were a rather mundane first course, until I tasted them. They were soft with a fruity flavor and more delicious than any I've ever eaten. More food appeared. Balls of ground meats and hot sausages skewered on wood sticks, delicious salads with transparent noodles, and hot sauces with fragrant, unfamiliar spices, fish wrapped in aluminum foil hot out of our bucket and tin kitchen -- where the chefs were happily getting drunk, preparing food, and sneaking looks into the dining room to make sure everyone was getting enough to eat.

The chatter and the laughter increased and I realized something was missing -- there was no boom box blaring banal beats at us (it is, unfortunately, one of the few sounds I still hear). This was a beach party wasn’t it? How the hell could we have a beach party without loud music to falsely induce a happy state? How could this be? We were laughing and having a great time and the music was coming from the ocean’s waves and our hearts. A relaxing family makes loud and beautiful music.

The sake cans stopped coming and someone put a plastic cup filled with whiskey and water into my hand. I looked over to where I last saw my lonely bottle and noticed that it was now half empty and three bottles of Thai whiskey had arrived to keep it company. A Swiss couple walked by, just out for a peaceful midnight stroll along the beach, I assumed. My family insisted that the shy couple join us and they were gently, but firmly pulled into our house where two stools and fresh drinks appeared instantly. A succulent plate of hot mackerel was put in their laps and I could see people jabbering and gesturing in pigeon languages, which everyone seemed to understand. A German man walked by and he was pulled into the melee. Then a too-beautiful woman and her outrageously handsome boyfriend walked by.

They didn't get through our gauntlet either and were forced into the fun. Khun Ghadafi told me she was a well known Thai movie star from Bangkok... everyone recognized her, but no one made over her any more than anyone else.

We silently forgave her for being too-famous, too-beautiful and too-rich, and decided that, despite all those handicaps; she deserved to have as much fun as the rest of us. And she did, but I think her boyfriend was not as happy. We silently forgave him for that too.

The hours passed and the whiskey bottles kept refilling themselves, but no one got outrageously drunk. The fish and other foods also replenished themselves, and it felt, for all the world, like I was living the story of the loaves and fishes. Someone sang a song. One of the young men climbed up on a stool and danced. People hugged each other continuously and toasts were made, with everyone finding it necessary to touch their cup to everyone else's cup before drinking. The movie star and her boyfriend were reluctantly released from our custody to make their way back to the world orphanage. They didn't know how to get back to their hotel. I managed to hail a tuk-tuk (a sort of converted pickup truck) taxi for them, but as they were getting into it, two of my new brothers slid up to us on motorbikes and insisted that the taxi was too expensive and they would be happy to take them to their hotel (I grinned internally, knowing that the movie star could have purchased all of their homes, and possibly the whole island, and still have enough change left for a taxi to London). The movie star was no longer too-beautiful, so she graciously and happily agreed to accept the back seat position on my brother’s motorbike, but the boyfriend went home in the taxi (he being still too-handsome to ride on a motorbike). The party ended and I was driven back to my house in a very small car that had (at least) seven laughing people in it. All but the driver and myself got out of the car at the bottom of my steep hill so the car would be light enough to make it up the grade. The first grey of dawn was slowly brushing green onto the fronds of the coconut trees as I stepped into my house.

I went for a walk this afternoon. I walked past the place where our home had been. I felt no nostalgia for it. I now know that my family can materialize our home anywhere, anytime. Last night's spot is only a few meters of cement sidewalk next to a lot of hotels surrounded by a polluted ocean, but the friendship our family feels is surrounded by regard and love and its place is everywhere. I am learning that binoculars, outdoor propane grills and fancy game boards are useless to anyone who cares to see far, start a cooking fire, or play a game for its own sake. I am learning precious and important lessons in this odd country. It will be difficult to face America when my time here is done. It will be difficult to explain that my teachers are cooks and servers in a poor Muslim restaurant. It will be even more difficult to explain to my fellow Americans that this poverty-ridden country is perhaps the richest country in the world and also the home of the undisputed world champion checkers player.


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