What I do when I don't write.

So what do I do when I am between blogger posts or fiction novel chapters? I paint. I paint traditional Chinese brush paintings. I paint fish such as koi and carps, water lilies, lotus flowers, but my favourite subject is bamboo. I even manage to add a little Chinese characters to it, though I don't speak Chinese, nor can I write Chinese. I just collect short poems about bamboo and fish in Chinese and copy them. Each painting gets its finishing touch by adding the artist's stamp in red. I have two signature stamps: the smaller one depicts a pen-feather and my European initials V.R. The little feather represents my nickname in Dutch. People tend to call me Little Feather in the Netherlands. The bigger red stamp has my Tibeto/Sino name of Pantau or Pantao, a peach reputed to be food for Taoist fairies. I tend to sell my painting between 1000 and 3000 THB, but most of the time, I give them away as presents. One painting is going to be hanging in a restaurant in Pattaya. It will be given to the owner on his birthday on 5 July.

Finding a needle in Bangkok

The Baiyoke Sky Tower Hotel, Bangkok. The highest hotel in South-East Asia.

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I had a bit of a situation on Wednesday night. I was supposed to meet my good friend Hao at 8 p.m. somewhere near his home in South-East Bangkok. As he had moved to another home, I didn’t know his exact address. He said he now lived somewhere in a pink coloured 4 story apartment building in a residential area off Sathurpradit Road. The plan was that I would call him at 8 p.m., the moment I arrived somewhere on the main road from which he would collect me. So after a two hour journey from my home outside Pattaya south-east of Bangkok by public transportation, a half hour journey on the sky train and an hour long journey in a taxi to Saturpradit Road, I called him. Some Thai person answered his mobile phone and didn’t speak any English. In my best Thai I tried to asked the guy who he was and what my friend’s mobile phone was doing in his hand. Was my friend near him?
And then he hung up. So I called again. Someone else answered in broken English, explaining to me that my friend had forgotten his phone.
Where was the phone?
Don Mueng.
Don Mueng is in the north of Bangkok, about a two-hour drive. I started to get a little verklempt. How on earth was I going to meet up with my friend? It was 9.30 p.m., an hour and a half after I was supposed to show up somewhere on that long avenue.
So I hoped my friend was smart enough to call his own number, leave some instructions as to where we could meet near his home. I guess I am the only practical person in this part of the world. I called his number again, but there was no answer. I called again, and then I started hearing a beep, indication that my battery was running low. Five minutes later, it went dead.
A few Jesus fucking Christ’s issued from my mouth. I was sweaty, tired, anxious, pissed off, and in need of a toilet-break. No cafés in the area though, it was all residential.
I took a deep breath and decided to go into a side street. I arrived in a typical Bangkokian residential area with a mix of middle-class and working class people. At this time, most people were still out on the street.
It occurred to me that most of them had never seen a white person before, so after wandering through this labyrinth of wooden bungalows and concrete apartment blocks, people started to ask me where I was going.
“I am trying to find my friend who must live in this area.”
The area was about half a square mile. More people became curious.
“My friend is a Chinese. He is 1.83 and good-looking. He’s a college professor. Do you know him?”
Go to Manhatten and ask somewhere on Broadway if they can help you out with such information.
One guy asked me about his address.
“I don’t know. He lives on the top floor of an apartment building with 4 floors. The building is pink. That’s all I know.”
I looked around me. Lots of pink coloured concrete in this area.
“Teacher you said. Does he have a lot of Philipino friends?”
“I think so. Yes, he has a lot of Philipino colleagues. Do you know my friend?”
“No. But there are a lot of Philipino teachers in this area as there is a large college further down the avenue.”
A policeman showed up. “What are you looking for?”
“My friend’s house. It’s pink. He’s a Chinese man, 25 years old, 1.83, he wears a school uniform and he has many Philipino friends.”
“Madam, there are a lot of Chinese in this area.”
“I know. I can see.”
The policeman took me to a shop, run by an Indian who had a Philipino friend. By now, a group of about 20 children and a grandmother, and a curious woman my age followed me in my wake. The Indian wasn’t able to help, but the old lady suddenly said: “Does your friend have a bruised face?”
“Yes, he was in a major accident and he is recovering from facial injuries.”
“I know him. He always walks through my alley in his school uniform. I don’t know where he lives, but I can take you to my street.”
So I followed her to her street where the lady asked around. There was a girl who knew Chen Hao. “He lives in a pink building, right?” ”Yes, I saw a picture of his building on Facebook.”
“The girl took me to a pink building a few hundred metres deeper into the labyrinth, followed by the policeman, the Indian, twenty, children, a boy in a wheelchair, a woman my age, and a grandmother. I passed some small factories, a rubbish dump, some shops, some new middle-class buildings, two wooden bungalows that were burned down to the ground not so long ago, more little grocery shops, some food stalls, more people, and finally there was a orange building and a pink and white building. The pink and white building I recognized from the picture. “Yes, this must be it.”
However, the building’s main door was locked. So I yelled, “CHEN HAO,” and hoped he was at home and able to hear me. No answer. A lady with a key suddenly showed up. She opened the door and took me to the top floor. There were five doors. All doors were closed. Nobody was at home. One apartment had the lights on, but there were six pairs of female shoes in front of the door. One door had a Chinese good luck sign on it. The lights were off. This must be Chen Hao’s home. I could almost smell him. However, he wasn’t at home.
The lady with the key, guided me downstairs, as by now I was really tired and upset and I had made an alternative plan. I would take a taxi, leave, and go home.
However, a little voice inside me said: You really want to see Chen Hao, and he is somehow looking for you on the big avenue. I decided to stay put and sit in front of the door until he returned home after an unsuccessful search.
Thirty minutes later, a Philipino man showed up whom I recognized as one of Chen Hao’s colleagues. He recognized me to. He lived on the top floor of the pink and white building and offered me to wait for Hao in his room.
I used the toilet, drank half a bottle of water as the outside temperature and pollution had gotten to me, and sat down on a mat. I sighed.
“I don’t know where Hao is, but he normally goes to an internet café down the street every evening. He normally returns at around 11.”
“We were supposed to meet at 8, so I think he’s not in an internet cafe.”
His phone rang. “It’s for you. It’s Chen Hao.”
“Hi, Hao, it’s Pantau. Where are you? Don Mueng? Yeah I know. You forgot your phone. What the hell were you doing in Don Meung? Okay. Well, see you in an hour then.”

An hour and a half later, we had dinner. We were both upset with each other. I was upset, because this whole situation didn’t make me happy, and he was upset that I took the situation so seriously.
After dinner, I realised that my friend lived a life-style comparable to mine in India. He didn’t have a bed, but a bamboo mat on the floor in a room as large as my bathroom. He did have running water in the back and something that looked like a shower and a toilet.
After a refreshing shower, a one-hour talk and a big hug we fell asleep at 1 a.m. He was supposed to get up at 6, as classes started at 8.
The next day, after a few appointments, I was able to find his home by myself. We spent the entire evening talking, even in the internet café that we visited to check our emails. I couldn’t sleep on the bamboo mat last night. I guess I was no longer used to Indian living conditions.
I returned to my home near Pattaya an hour ago. I had taken some pictures of Hao and I and some pictures and video of the Bangkok Sky train. However, I wanted to delete one bad picture, but accidentally pressed the button: DELETE ALL. So all my photos and videos are gone. I guess I was a little too tired to operate my camera well.

Hao

THE LIFE OF A FLY

Last night, I had a conversation with a few friends about my post on Barack Obama killing a fly and that some people found me a little fanatical about cherishing every life of every sentient being.
“But it was just a fly,” a friend said.
My answer: “And you are just a Thai. And that guy is just a negro. And I heard Muslims say: it’s good, they were just 3000 Americans in the WTC. There should have been more. And Nazi’s used to say: these Jews and homophiles and Roma are just vermin. And the Japanese say: we like to eat whaless, and shark fins. And others like dolphin meat. And some Chinese eat dogs. They are just dogs.”
This time, everybody got my point, and agreed that every life is precious and that one should not feel gratified or take pleasure in killing any other sentient being, even if it is the life of a fly.

I SEE DEAD PEOPLE… EVERYWHERE

Two stories plus conclusion.

Story 1.

Many Thais drive like crazy. 100 km per hour through a city centre is no exception. They drive scooters without helmets as if there is no tomorrow. Neither do they mind being on a scooter or in a car completely drunk. Traffic rules do not appear to exist. Almost every time I go outside, I see people colliding with each other. Bam! Again I see a bunch of people lying all about the asphalt, bleeding. Yesterday: three scooters carrying a total of 9 girls. Bam. The day before yesterday, collision between truck and van. Bam: a dozen people bleeding. The day before: my taxi collided with a scooter driven by a girl. My response; get out and run away, as there is a policy in Thailand; It’s always the fault of the foreigner. They reason: If you hadn’t been in our country, this would not have happened. Even if you sit in the back of a taxi.
So millions of Thais die in accidents every year.

Story 2.

People love hair extensions all over the world. They are glued to the base of their own hair and suddenly they have hair one or two feet longer. It’s often natural hair from Asia. People think there are tons of poor girls with long hair that have their hair cut in order to make some money. In Thailand you can buy a two foot ponytail of natural hair for about 1500 baht. Not expensive really. Last year I had my hair cut and after two days I regretted my new short bob. I considered hair extensions. However, I learned something so horrific, I decided not have my hair extended.

Conclusion:

Dead girls get cremated in Thailand. Most Thai girls have long hair, often down to their waist. And would’t it be a waste to have that hair cremated? So the cremators shave off the hair of dead girls a make a lucrative business out of selling that hair to hair salons.

So next time you buy a wig or have your hair extended with natural hair: it’s not hair from living poor girls, but from dead girls, rich or poor.

To me it doesn’t feel good to walk around with a dead girl’s hair on my head. “How about you?” I asked a friend with hair extensions.
“Would you reject a donor kidney of a dead Thai girl?” my friend asked.
“Well….”

So, again a good subject for discussion.

THE FATE OF THE DEAD FLY AND BARACK OBAMA

Last night I told my friends I have been called crazy and fanatical by some people and that I should join the crazy people of Peta.

What happened?

I criticized Barack Obama for killing a fly. Not because the fly disrupting the interview, but because Obama obviously enjoyed the act of killing the fly.

We all kill small living beings, including the Dalai Lama and me. We may accidentally step or sit on one, we may crush an insect deliberately because it is bothering us. We may even destroy entire ant colonies with toxic spays, but to enjoy the act of killing and smiling and giggling after killing another sentient being is not done. As a Buddhist I vowed not to kill. It’s the first precept of the first 5 vows. Not to kill any sentient being. Why not? Would you enjoy being killed because someone else thinks your bothering him, you are a pest, you don’t look right in his eyes? No sentient beings enjoys suffering or dying, including flies and mosquitoes. Oh, can we kill malaria mosquitoes?Yes, is my answer. They may kill a more precious sentient being and we will prevent a malaria mosquito from killing another sentient being, thus preventing her from creating bad merit, upon which the soul of the malaria mosquito may be reborn in a more precious sentient being.

A few days ago, I was having breakfast in a Chinese restaurant. I fly landed into my coffee. I took the fly out of the coffee with the teaspoon, and dried it off with a napkin. Five minutes later, he flew off, probably being very happy. The staff was baffled by my compassion and offered me a free coffee.

Conclusion, sometimes we save flies, sometimes we kill, sometimes it’s even a good thing, but don’t take pleasure out of killing.

LES GIRLS

Last night, my friends and I went to see a so called kathoey-show at The Venue in Pattaya, Thailand. Not only was I surprised by the professionalism of the club’s performers who lip-synced on the familiar gay favouristes such as Liza, Marilyn, Donna, Madonna, Cher, Shirley Bassey, Three Degrees, and so on, but I had the pleasure to hear the announcement of a very special guest star. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Karen, one of the famous Austrialian Les girls.”

Les Girls was a famous Australian 1950s group of cross-dressing performers extraordinaire. I even remember a scene of the movie Precilla Queen of the Dessert, when Guy Pierce mentions that the other “girl” used to be a “Les Girl”.
Now I had the change to see 78-year-old Karen performing at The Venue, performing Liza’s New York New York on stage.
I managed to get a picture with the elderly girl. She stole my heart.

Karen of Les Girls and I after her brilliant performance.

2012 - THE END OF THE WORLD

Last night, after returning from a daytrip to Cambodia, I was talking to Jack, an American friend. He said, “Tao, there is something wrong with Time.”
I looked at the clock on the wall and then at my Rolex.
“Nope. It’s good.”
“No, I mean, I feel time is speeding up. For weeks now, I have a feeling that days don’t last as long as they used to.”
“What have you been drinking?”
“Coffee and water. I quit drinking chocolate martinis. I am talking about the string-theory, about the universe, about the end of the world.”
“What about the end of the world?”
“Does 2012 mean anything to you?”
“Yes, Jack. Between 21 and 23 December 2012, the world comes to an end…according to some people who started this urban legend, based on the fact that the Mayan Calendar end on around that period.”
“Do you think the end of the world will happen in 2012.”
“No, we’ll still be drinking chocolate martinis in 2012. But I do have a feeling the world is about the go through a major change, due to the economic recession. More and more people will decide to life outside the system, as I have. People will stray away from consumerism. More people will live in self-sufficient communities, growing their own veggies. Countries will sign peace deals, implement a democratic system, other countries will go to war, and it will be ugly. Iran, North Korea will go mad. I feel an upcoming war in Asia against America. And it’s North Korea. I have this feeling and I believe my premonitions are right. When I travelled to Cambodia with a group I had a premonition of an upcoming accident. A big accident. I saw a big truck colliding with a minivan and lots of bodies on the road. I told people to buckle up. They thought I was a bit crazy. One woman in our group showed up 10 minutes late. When were an hour away from the border, torrential rain came down the sky. When our van approached an intersection, we noticed a big truck that had collided with a similar van just 10 minutes before. There were bodies all over the road. If the woman had shown up on time and not ten minutes later, it could have been us.”

On a lighter note I can inform you that I have been enjoying some miniature gardening. I have been creating a miniature lotus pond for my balcony at our summer residence. On the photo you can see how our staff is tending to the pond. The pond has 7 fish in it who will eat mosquito larvae in case one of those girls decide to use the still water for breeding. The fish are happy, one lotus opened today in direct sunlight between 8 and 11, and the owner and staff are pleased as well. I have also bought an orchid, which is the tulip of Thailand, and soon I am going to recreate a miniature Japanese garden.

My staff tending to my lotus pond.



They were so happy, they started dancing together. Please note they are both male.

Tilda Swinton versus Jodie Foster

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I was talking to a friend the other day. I told him he looked like Jet Li.
He told me I looked like Tilda Swinton.
“Tilda Twinton?” I responded. The name didn’t ring a bell. I turned to my laptop and Googled Tilda Swinton Images and read her biodata on Wikipedia. The girl was born 5 years prior to me, making her 49 years years old. She lives in Scotland with her husband and her two children, a boy and girl called Xavier and Honour, as well as her male lover, a German artist with whom she goes out and about in public. So Tilda Swinton has a polyamourous relationship and everybody appears to be happy with the arrangement. It says she travels with her lover. She’s known for her gender-ambiguous appearance.”
“So I look like Tilda Swinton?” I said to Jet Li.
“Yes,” Jet Li confirmed.
“You really think I look like Tilda Swinton?”
“Yes. You don’t often use make up and if you do it is hardly noticeable.”
“But I have long hair, unlike Tilda. My Tibetan friends thought I looked more like Jodie Foster.”

“No you don’t look like Jodie Foster. You look like Tilda.”
“What about Helen Hunt. I think I look more like Helen.”
“No you don’t”
“I think I do. She has long blond hair.”
I Googled Helen Hunt Images.

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“O fuck, I don’t look like her. Look at her neck! The girl needs a facelift. Okay, I look more like Tilda. If she had Helen’s hair, I would look more like her. So I don’t look like Nicole Kidman?”
“Hell no. You look like Tilda.”
“Thank you. I always enjoy intelligent conversations. This is the most intelligent conversation with a Thai I had this week. But you do look like Jet Li.”

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I am taking a trip to Cambodia today, but will be back on Saturday. Greetings to you all in the USA, Nederland, Europe, Britain, Australia and Asia.

DRAG QUEEN CAPPUCCINO

Khun Oud
Pattaya Beach

Cappuccion extraordinaire

Oud in drag

Last night I was having a chat and coffee with some friends in Pattaya, about 15 minutes by car from my summer residence in Jomtien. We met in a café in Sunee Plaza, best known for it’s high number of gay bars and gogo-boy-clubs. It was in sharp contrast with my earlier experience at the Pattaya International Ladies Club where I was surrounded by 80 or so conservative women.
I promised to do a little marketing for the owner of the café I visited. It’s called Oud’s Bar. Be prepared, as the owner sometimes appears from the back room in drag. Apart from his fine staff, and his excellent management skills, he is one of few persons who feels comfortable just as he is. And he can be outrageous at times. Here are some photos, including photos of his delicious cappuccino.

THE LADIES CLUB

Put me on a stage in front of an audience of 10,000 and I will have a great time. I could entertain them for 3 hours without a script.

But today I did something I have never done before and I felt very nervous. I became a member of the PILC, and had my first meeting with this Pattaya’s International Ladies Club. We met on the top floor of a hotel which resembled a Caribbean cruise ship.

There were 80 ladies of different nationalities and they tend to get together a couple of times a month and organise all kinds of social activities. Most ladies have husbands who work in Pattaya and Jomtien and this is how they prevent themselves from feeling totally isolated, as most of them don’t speak Thai and most Thais don’t speak English, French, German, Dutch, Tibetan, Hindi, you name it.

There were two new members and I was one of them. So I was asked by the president to come to the microphone for an official introduction. The other new lady-member was very nervous when suddenly 7 photographers of the local press put their lenses on us. They were doing an article on the PILC. But if you’ve been on live TV before (as I have) this doesn’t really make me nervous. I was nervous about what kind of women I would meet.

I have 67 "friends" in Thailand and 62 of them are gay males, the other ones are straight. But I don’t have girlfriends. That is why I joined this club. I wanted to talk girl talk, not to my gays, but to women. There were conservative ladies, shy ladies, fun ladies, Indian ladies, even one Thai lady, many British and Australian ladies and two Dutch girls.

My first problem was: how do I call myself to these international ladies? Do I introduce myself by my official European name Veronique, or my European nickname Veertje (or Little Feather), or do I use my Tibetan name (Pantau), Chinese name Pantao or Tao), or Thai name Tao. I decided to use my Thai name, which is also a Chinese name. If pronounced correctly, it means Yin/Yang in Thai, and Peach in Chinese. If pronounced incorrectly in Thai, it means turtle. There is an island in the Thai Gulf called Koh Tao (Turtle Island).
To make a long story short; I had a good time. There were a bunch of ladies I could relate to and I even managed to sell a few of them my services as a yoga teacher and reiki master.
So I am looking forward to my next meeting and enjoy a cup of coffee, sandwiches and some small talk with 80 real women.

AT THE MOMENT OF COMMITMENT...

Dr. Sanguan and I.

Removal of a testicle.

Trachea shave.

And a late Korean lunch after surgery

Followed by a visit to the doctor's mansion.

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Finally, my photo film of my Phuket-trip has been developed and the photos have been printed. Yes, that does sound old-fashioned. I was just kidding. Since 2004 I use a digital camera and since Friday, I a own a new one, this one being a very fancy one, a little more professional than the other one. Things change fast. I told my mother that my first telephone apparatus had a circular dial instead of buttons. My mother told me that her first phone was owned by the telephone company and was located in a booth at the end of the street. It was made out of bakelite. Things change fast.

Last night I had a conversation about the workings of the matrix of the universe. Unlike in India, this doesn’t happen very often in Thailand. I was sitting in a café and met the neighbour of a friend with whom I had a coffee and a few beers. This elderly gentleman, Jack, had an out of body experience at age 20 and since then he believed in the paranormal, the supernatural, God, the universe, whatever.

So we spoke for hours, discussing J.W. Von Goethe who said or wrote that At the moment of commitment the universe conspires to assist you. My new friend disagreed with the word “commitment”. He said it should be “passionate”. I told him that: first of all: the quote may not even have been said by Goethe, and secondly, Goethe spoke German, or Swiss German. I said that perhaps the German quote would rather sound differently. I tried to Google it last night but can’t find the original German quote. I speak English, Dutch and German equally well and was eager to find Goethe’s original German quote.

I told my new friend, Jack, about my coincidental encounters. I posted a number of those wonderful stories in January and February. Jack had many stories to tell. I asked him why wouldn’t he write them down, as they were so inspirational. He said he hated writing, but loved reading. I told him, I hated reading but loved writing. The love for creating characters, making them alive and give them a story to experience… Apart from that, I love to entertain, teach and inspire people with my books.

So I told him one of my stories. It was during the monsoon season of 2004 in India. I had taken my jeep across the Himalayas to the remote valley of Ladakh and sat in small eatery with a friend. Next to me, there was a couple, trying to order a sandwich in English with a Dutch accent. I felt the need to interfere and advise them on Ladakhi sandwiches, as I was familiar with the menu and knew which were good. The man was surprised I spoke Dutch as he had heard me speaking British English with my British girlfriend. He told me that they had a life altering experiences. They read a book written by a woman from their hometown in the Netherlands. It had inspired them to give up their office jobs and open up an orangutan sanctuary in Indonesia. They were now travelling to Dharamsala, India to hopefully find the author of the book that inspired them to change their lives. She lived in Dharamsala, the hometown of the Dalai Lama and they wanted her to know about their story and thank her.
I asked them. “Is that author called Veronique Renard, also known as Pantau?”
“O my God. It’s you!!”
The man burst out in tears. He and his wife spent the day together with me talking about coincidental encounters.

Last week I was in Phuket. I had an encounter with my dear friend Doctor Sanguan (which was pre-arranged) who is a gender reassignment specialist. I actually gave him one idea regarding a different technique to create the introitus of a colovaginoplasty and I am not even a physician. Last week, I witnessed a few sex changes and a facelift. Here are some digital photos.

SING FIGHT WEEP PRAY LAUGH WORK AND ADMIRE

At the moment of passionate commitment, the entire universe conspires to assist you.

Whatever you desire, tell the universe about your dream. Sing it, fight for it, weep about it, pray for it, laugh about it, work for it and admire the wonders that are brought about by the universe.

Is this a marriage proposal?

Well, this doesn't need any explanation, I would say. I accomplished uploading a video for the first time in my life. And what a video it is.....

By the way, this is my good friend, Doctor Sanguan Kunaporn, one of the 4 top gender reassignment surgeons in Thailand. There are another 15, but he's way up there with Dr. Preecha, Suporn and Chettawut. He can create female genitals out of male genitals so beautifully, that any non-transsexual woman would wish they had had SRS with this man.

The Phuket Island Experience

Phuket Island

The first thing I did when I arrived on Phuket Island was going to one of the many Chinese temples in Phuket Town. Phuket has a large Chinese population and I love Chinese temples.
I took a bundle of insence sticks, held them above a flame to light them and stuck them in an ash bowl in front of a bunch of Chinese godly statues. I thought: what to pray for? So I prayed for the well-being of all sentient beings, I then prayed for a good and enjoyable 5 day stay on the island and then I prayed for good book sales. I also prayed for a Free Tibet and a long life for the Dalai Lama, one of my favourite prayers when I am in a Chinese temple.

Later that evening I received a message from my administrator John. He wrote to me that someone had put 3 copies of my book Pholomolo for sale on E-bay for the price of 30,67 USD per copy. Praise the Holy Lord and sorry for the ignorant people who purchase one such copy as you can buy them a lot cheaper via Amazon or any other retailer. Official list price is 24.98, but Amazon sometimes gives special discounts and you can by my book for 15 USD. I wonder why people would spend more on a copy of Pholomolo via E-Bay. Are they copies I have signed? I don’t know. The only thing I know is that book sales for May had increased by 100 per cent compared to April. So my prayers obviously work with retroactive effect too.

In addition, I prayed for my dear friend Chen Hao, who was the victim of a hit and run accident in Shenzhen, China. He was in coma for 9 days and needed facial reconstruction. He suffered memory loss and was in hospital for one month before he was able to return to Bangkok for further recovering. We both realize that such an experience is life altering and that he will not be the same person any more. Chen Hao is my dearest friend in Thailand; a man I love more than any other friend I have.

Chen Hao in Chinatown, Bangkok in 2008

Chen Hao and I in Shenzhen, China, in 2008

Chen Hao on my balcony in Bangkok