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The tone will be much of the same today, you know, crabby ‘n’ that, but our location this time, exotic Thailand.

“Where exactly?”

In ‘Krabi’, a province ‘characterized by craggy, sheer limestone cliffs, dense mangrove forests, and more than a hundred offshore islands’ (or so Wikipedia says).

Just imagine, you’re lying face down, comfortably warming your tanned back to the evening sun whilst some stranger offering free massages rubs you in appropriately. With a slow turning of your neck, you open your drowsy eyes to see an orange sun setting and dolphins clicking and making love on the beach. You reach out to a cocktail sat atop volcanic rock, and despite the fancy decorations poking you in the eye, you sip a beverage so thirst quenching, so enchanting, and so unbelievable, that it has to be fake, that it has to be a spell… though, just this one time…a spell you allow yourself to be under.

Alright, calm down. You ain’t actually there, remember, look about ‘yo’self’, you’re just reading this from behind your phone, sat on your cigarette-burnt sofa and clutching at your clogged-up heart from that multi-pack of Quavers you had for breakfast. That fantasy ain’t happening, unless of course you take a hallucinogenic and read this at the same time, which of course would be great I don’t advise.

“Why are you telling me about Thailand?” Well, if you stop asking bloody questions, I’ll tell you.

For us westerners, we actually have a different experience of holidaying in comparison to Chinese people. I don’t mean a different experience in the sense of ‘cultural shock’, e.g. a Chinese person freaks out at the sight of a stranger smiling at them (they don’t do smiling); I’m talking about how we as western tourists, are treated in comparison to how Chinese tourists are treated.

As my wife is Chinese, I guess you could say that I live something of a double life when travelling around Asia. I see the two faces of treatment towards tourists, discrimination and admiration. To understand that, first you must understand how we’re perceived as westerners in Asia. I think a bullet point list shall best highlight the key points:

Wealthy

Good looking

Got that? Good. Let’s move on.

To understand how Chinese people are perceived and treated abroad, well, I’ll let this article illustrate that and you can make up your own mind. You may be wondering where this is all going, and so you shall see.

This, readers of Clueless in Asia is what happened when I went to Thailand.

My wife and her mother, who was joining us on our trip, stuffed full their suitcases with swimwear and other such fashion accessories, whilst I neatly and efficiently arranged two pairs of shorts, two t-shirts, essentials, and some snorkelling equipment for best storage optimization, utilizing the suitcases capabilities, and after analysing the capacity of said suitcase, I then added ‘additionals’, such as ‘spares’ and the like.

We were flying from Guangzhou in the south of China, so the flight wasn’t going to be too long, meaning that the costs were low also (that’s the only benefit). You may not have flown with a Chinese commercial airliner before, so take my experience as one of first hand.

On checking in, I, the English gentleman that I am, was handled in a graceful manner that far contrasted the one in which everyone else was being handled; everyone else being, Chinese. I was greeted with a smile and even a suave “sir”, whilst the Chinese passengers had their passports snatched from their hands and were yelled at whilst given dirty looks, looks that resembled the ones you’d give if a friend if they told you, “I’m a Christian, now”.

Our flight was delayed by an hour or so, and when we did eventually embark and find our seats by battling past one another, the plane was then stationary for a further two hours. The Chinese passengers grew restless, fast, and this manifested itself through the smoking of cigarettes (on board a plane), shouting, arguing and other forms of behaviour that annoy me.

On board there was only one male member of the cabin crew, the rest were female. From my seat, I saw the one and only male member of staff take to the tannoy and speak in both Chinese and English, though as I was the only westerner on the flight, it must have only been for my benefit.

He addressed the issue of our late departure with nonsensical tripe, literally offering no explanation as to what was going on. I saw him then walk down the aisle in my direction, so I reached out to him and asked,

“scuse me mate, what’s going on?“

“I don’t speak English.“

“I…I just…“

Lunches were then served before taking off, and halfway into eating my stale bun filled with arbitrary meats, the air hostesses took away our food, literally by snatching trays from our tables, resulting in said meats falling into my unsuspecting lap; as the pilot apparently had woken up finished his fag stopped being a c*nt deemed it safe to take off.

During the flight, passengers, again, smoked cigarettes, pooed on the floor (TRUE) and as if in a Mr Bean movie, a five-year-old child kicked the back of my seat the entire way, despite me threating to take his mother’s life, whom might I add laughed as her son did so. Don’t’ worry, I didn’t escalate to murderous intent immediately, no, I had threatened him first with a roundhouse kick, I’m not that mental.

The kid kept clapping, and no one on that plane was deserving of it. Come on, combine that with the cliché of a kid kicking your chair, a mother who took no action other than to find it funny to see her son ‘interact’ with a foreigner, and you’ve got yourself either heart palpitations, cardiac arrest, or a clenched fist you plan to use.

So, here’s where it turns bad, I mean, worse than the flight.

We land, depart the plane and arrive at immigration in Thailand. I and I only was ushered to the side by the airport staff and given a slipstreaming service to avoid the cues of the Chinese tourist that I had just flown with. Waving goodbye to my family, I stood patiently at a booth whilst waiting to have my passport checked, happy to be lavished with such undeserving treatment. I had considered the fact that they scanned my luggage and saw they were dealing with a professional, but then I thought, “no, that’s madness, if they were judging me based on my packing abilities, I wouldn’t even need to wait”.

Whilst pondering all likely scenarios, I began noticing something rather strange. The queue consisting of only Chinese tourists, began preparing money from their bags as if to pay a toll, “da fu*k?”, I said, and then, “da fu*k you doing?” I said again when seeing my wife and her mother doing the same.

“Bribe.” My wife said, calling across the barrier.

“What? You don’t need to pay bribes!”

She looked at me as if I was an idiot, “we do.”

I left my VIP booth, outraged that they were going to take advantage of my wife. I, instead, queued alongside her and stood to wait, preparing myself for an argument (I rehearsed lines of what I was going to say whilst getting sweaty).

A Chinese man was queuing in front of us, but he was reluctant to move forward to a vacant booth.

“Why don’t you go to that empty booth?” My wife questioned.

“Because he is asking for more money, this officer is asking for less,” He said, pointing at the female member of staff.

The man then slid a note into his passport and handed it to the officer. The officer opened the passport and saw the money inside. She puffed as if to say, “is that it?” and then to our utter surprise, she began waving the money above her head in the air to humiliate the Chinese tourist, for being ‘cheap’.

She even started shouting out the amount.

“10 yuan, 10!”

To which her colleagues laughed in response, as they were landing more.

It was our turn.

We got to the booth and before we could hand over our passports, the woman snapped her fingers and held out her hand with one eyebrow raised; but not at me, only at my wife and her mother. She essentially ignored me, as if she didn’t want me to be a part of what was happening as if she knew I knew this wasn’t right.

They gave her their passports on my instruction, and she tutted, flicked back the passports and shook her head as if to say, “no you morons, have you never paid a bribe before?”

To cut a long story short, and a frustratingly and infuriating dispute later, the only way immigration would allow my family through, was if they paid the bribe set by the officer. Just to note, I was not asked to pay a bribe. This has nothing to do with ‘entry fees’, insurance, or visas, this is an illegal action which is essentially blackmail and corruption. Every single customs officer acted in the same way, taking advantage of all these people, who just thought it was the norm, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to jump to the defence of the Chinese people.

So, it turns out, yes you do need to pay a bribe, well, If you’re a Chinese citizen. The Thai authorities know that you’re probably not as well travelled as us westerners, therefore do in fact take full advantage of your naivety. The passport inspectors, or shall I say, ‘wallet inspectors’ began taking the money from each Chinese tourist, and for those that weren’t aware of this ‘gift giving’, were either asked to leave the queue or had luggage inspected as if to make life difficult for them.

So, we’d technically not even gotten into the country and already we’d been robbed… by government employees! I have travelled to many places around the world, and I have categorically never seen that.

Note – This may only be true of crappy, I mean, Krabi airport. I cannot comment on whether the practice of corruption is commonplace throughout Thailand.

Ushering my wife and her mother quickly to the exit where we had arranged a taxi, we fled like whores from a pimp, fearing that the government employees would make more callus demands. Our taxi driver, who was waiting outside, was irritated by us on our immediate arrival, he started with, “I have been waiting for long time”

“I know, I’m sorry, but we were just robbed by the staff inside” I replied, genuinely apologetic.

He expressed disinterest by shrugging his shoulders and making the sides of his mouth point downwards as if this was nothing new.

With a swing of his body, he threw our luggage into the back of his seven-seater, opened the door for me (not them) and in we jumped. My wife and her mother began immediately taking selfies (which annoys me), as I, being the ‘switched-on street-smart’ guy that I am, took pictures of the driver and all of his details, just in case he was planning to murder us and harvest our organs.

Yes, a reoccurring fear of mine, for those who have read this blog from day 1.

Call me paranoid, but we were just robbed by government officials. If they can demand money from us, what’s stopping this guy from chopping my arms and legs off and tapping my carcass against the table to shake out my good bits, like a kinder egg?

Even though we sped through the city, pickup trucks passed us hastily and in the back of the trucks were entire families sat casually holding on as the drivers weaved through traffic. To me, being in ‘high alert’ paranoid mode, saw my reasoning escalate into this mirage of terrorist sat in the back of trucks, like you’d see on the news. All of a sudden, bags became bombs and sticks became bazookas.

Essentially, I had become a model student of propaganda and fear mongering.

We drove for an hour or so, and during this transit my wife revealed to me that back in the airport before queuing, she, along with all the other Chinese passengers, had to fill in visa documents on landing and get said visas stamped, which during this time was completely free of charge; a marketing mission to encourage Chinese tourists to characteristically dump the entire contents of their wallets into Thailand (something Chinese are known for).

My wife told me that once the form was filled in, they, along with everyone else had to get it stamped by a member of airport staff, who were waiting next to passport control. The staff began asking for money to stamp the forms and saying in Chinese “give me 100rmb!” even though, as mentioned before, the form is entirely free.

My wife said, “I gave her 50rmb and the girl slapped my arm hard and said, “no, 100! No money no entry”.

I was speechless and enraged. It’s no wonder she didn’t tell me back in the airport as I would have most likely taken my wife’s arm and slapped the girl with it.

We eventually arrived at our destination, a prepaid property we had rented online. It was a secluded, tranquil and almost romantically located ‘hut’, like the ones you’d expect to see in South Africa in the middle of the savannah.

As we left the taxi and caught our luggage in mid-air as the driver threw it to us, he, like the government employees, snapped his fingers at us and was demanding nearly four times the amount we agreed on. With my unused anger still boiling over from the previous incidences, I got to work on shutting him down. Of course, I am aware that as we took our time to get robbed, we kept him waiting, but this did not justify his aggression nor ludicrous demands.

What did I do? Well, instead of bargaining with him to get the price lower or near to what we had initially agreed, I just offered him lower than what I had originally agreed to pay him, to show that if he was going to speak utter nonsense, I would do the same. For example:

“Give me 500!”

“We agreed 100!”

“You give me 500, now!”

“I’ll give you 50”

Done. Boom. Deal of the century.

He may have been confident, but he sure as hell wasn’t with numbers… or English. The numbers don’t reflect the actual cost, but I neither care nor want to spend my time trying to recall the exact details of said currency, as long as you get the gist of what happened, i.e. I said something stupid, and it worked (I wasn’t actually expecting it to either)

After a quick inspection, we learnt that the property was not as we expected, although truly magnificent, the property didn’t have as many rooms as we had believed. We sat on the wicker furniture with our luggage eagerly awaiting to be unpacked and my wife got on her phone and searched for alternative accommodations nearby. The house was a wooden shell, textured with grains and smelling of woodlands. It was almost as if we were in a tree house or in the very tree itself.

After finding a suitable place to rest our robbed and tired souls, we called the same and only taxi firm, and they sent us a driver… it was the same guy. As he pulled up to the hut, my face expressed a mix of irritation and the kind of expression you’d pull if train fares went up again.

“100” I quoted, setting the tone that I wasn’t going to be messed about again.

“Yes, I am not thief, 100,” he said as if I was barking up the wrong tree.

My wife had arranged alternative accommodation with a hotel that was situated quite literally on the beach. After an hour or so of driving, we arrived, and as the medieval knightly system of chivalry dictates, I began unloading the taxi and took responsibility of the heavy luggage, as my wife and her mother proceeded to reception to check us in.

As I lugged the suitcases up a small ramp, I saw my wife and her mother standing there waiting, which I assumed meant they were waiting as the staff checked them in, but on my questioning of, “all done?”

My wife said, “they haven’t even spoken to us. They’ve just ignored us.”

This wasn’t some ornate and most eccentric of receptions, it was a modest computer desk at best, there were no excuses as to why you wouldn’t see two people standing over you whilst you sat behind it. It was almost as if they were ignoring them on purpose.

I reached the desk and as if by magic, on seeing my white face, they dropped what they were doing and greeted me promptly. He, along with his colleague asked my wife and her mother to wait whilst they checked me in.

“We’re all together,” I said, frowning.

“Oh”

I then received a slightly less courteous service and by slightly, I mean entirely.

After checking in, and chasing of a lizard that scurried around our room, we kicked off our flipflops and strolled along the most magnificent of beaches, decorated in a thick lush vegetation of palm trees and shoreside shrubbery. Truly, the hassle beforehand was all worth it if this was the prize. The sand was a white powder and each step a gentle exfoliation as the grains sieved between our toes. The warm unpolluted sun was a welcome change to that of the Chinese toxic weather.

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If only I had kept my eyes down looking blissfully unaware at the sand.

I raised my head and noticed that we were subject to stares and points as if we didn’t belong together. A feeling that I knew wouldn’t have existed if I were strolling with fellow westerners. As we walked side by side, passing natives, I saw them go by to only stop moments later and stare by lifting up their shades to have a better look.

I saw her mother, who was walking ahead of us to splash her feet in the warm waters, be unaware to the glares as she shouted back to us in Chinese.

It was as if there was a strong odour of unwelcoming, lingering around both my wife and her mother, and maybe even me; but being the overtly positive individuals they are, they did not see it. I felt a spectator to bullying, racism and discrimination, which made me feel very uncomfortable and most protective.

That evening we walked across the beach bickering as to which restaurant we would eat in for our first night. I wasn’t in the mood for what I call, ‘food gambling‘, which means, “I don’t want to fu*k about with bones and experimenting with weird sh*t, just give me something normal“.

(Normal of course being, ‘something I can recognise’).

Of course, I was in the company of Chinese, literally the country with a limitless palate. Bollocks, ears, feet and whatever else you’d find at a morgue, they’ll eat it.

We agreed on a place, it seemed diverse in its cuisine, “fine” I thought, flicking through the large menu situated at the front of the restaurant. We seated ourselves as no one came to seat us, (we did wait a few minutes) and on taking our seats we saw a ‘pace’ of staff congregated around the front end of the restaurant.

They began taking turns to have a peek at us, and once they had drawn straws, an unwilling waiter came over.

First, he handed me my menu by placing it in my hands, he then proceeded to give both my wife and her mother theirs, but instead, kind of…’ flung it’ down on their placemats.

He then asked me first what I was having, and then asked them what they were having. He seemed purposefully confused by everything my wife said as if he wasn’t prepared to allow her voice enter his ears.

“What?” the waiter said impatiently.

“The seafood pasta,” my wife repeated, flawlessly.

“I don’t understand. What she say?” he questioned, looking up at me, tapping his pen against his notepad.

“The seafood pasta.“

“Oh okay, now I know“.

I shook my head, squinting my eyes at the obviousness of his behaviour and attitude towards them. The plates started leaving the kitchen fairly quickly and as the pattern suggests, I was served first and then they were. Drinks were brought out afterwards, with again mine being served first and then theirs.

During our stay, we visited exotic offshore remote islands, only accessible by boat. We went diving in waters deep in hues of turquoise, so transcending of your expectations and almost spiritual, you’d actually consider drinking it; it was so warm around your waist, you wouldn’t want to leave. We engaged in the throng of nightlife, walked the stockpiled markets and filled our bellies with the finest of fresh plates of seafood, yet… I couldn’t enjoy it.

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Shops were charging them higher prices than what I was being charged, resulting in me becoming a mule of purchasing. The staff treated them with impatience and palpable rudeness, even ignoring them, again, resulting in me having to arrange and schedule all activities. Even during the trips at sea, the Chinese tourists had their safety totally disregarded, and were treated the same way you’d act around someone with AIDS, i.e. “I ain’t going near that sh*t!”

What upset me the most, was that my wife and her mother are and were so naïve, so silly, and so pure of heart, it angered me that they could be the victim of any kind of negative generalization and unwelcoming behaviour.

Throughout the entire four-day trip, there were many countless examples of discrimination and admiration which was dependent on nationality. This admiration manifested itself onto other westerners, and the discrimination was projected onto other Chinese too; so, it wasn’t as if we were a special case.

I was disgusted with how we were treated, authority figures bullying tourists into giving them money and members of the public actively ostracizing the Chinese tourists. So much so was I disgusted, that all I could think about during this trip, was letting people know about Thailand’s dirty little secret.

I do not believe that this is unheard of nor unknown, but when you’re actively subjected to it, it becomes far more disturbing and clearly highlights the differences in experience that you can have dependant on where you’re from.

In Asia, my wife’s treatment is dependent on my presence. That statement isn’t a raving review praising westerners and nor is it an egotistical sweeping statement reflecting my own self-worth. It comes down to the undeniable and inarguable case of westerners being treated far better than fellow Asians within Asia.

We went to the same country, the same airport, the same hotel and the same restaurants, yet we had entirely different experiences. Despite this conclusion, a paradox is apparent, one where I, the receiver of positivity actually had a worse time than my wife and her mother, the receivers of negativity.

Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe it isn’t such a farfetched claim that racism isn’t exclusive. Maybe minding your own is the key to blissfulness. All I know is, I was clueless in crappy crabby Krabi.