Camping Trip in Ratchaburi

Recently we went on a camping trip. Like most Thais, Poo's idea of camping is completely different than mine. I come from the Western United States, and "camping" invokes big mountains, wild rivers, bears, strenuous hikes, and a sense of danger.

The typical Thai "camping" experience is driving your truck to a beautiful spot in a National
Park, pitching your tent next to about 100 other tents, and occupying a sala, or a campfire, for the next 15 hours with dozens of other people. It involves immense quantities of food, ice, stoves, alcohol, portable tables, etc. In other words, it's just an outdoor party. There is always a guitar, often amplified music draining the battery of some unsuspecting truck, and there absolutely must be a huge public toilet provided by the grace of the Royal Park System -- plumbing is the sine qua non of Thai camping.

As we were driving to the National Park, Poo was bubbly, but I was already grumpy. "It will be so much fun!" she said, as she described the profiles of her online camping group, "K. Nid, he's a good singer and he plays the guitar, and . . . "

"ARRGGHH!" I blasted, "I go camping to get AWAY from people, NOT to meet new people!"

We got there and the online camping group had already secured the best spot -- in the sala. It was 11:00 AM but they were already drinking and laughing. I refused to drink, because I wanted to be sober in case I felt the need to drive to the nearest hotel. I had a good book so I perched on a rock near the river to read my book.

By late afternoon, I had surrendered. I was now drinking and I had pitched my tent, but I was still reading my book. When the light faded, though, I had no choice but to join the group. Of course, the men were all drinking and telling stupid jokes while the women were cooking and gossiping. I joined the men and they were happy to have me, because it gave them a new activity -- Tease the Farang! They wanted me to drink whiskey, but I refused, and I drank my own beer at my own pace.

"MICKEY!!" shouted one of them -- "I can tell you're not a W & W guy -- you're a B & B guy!"

"What's that?" I asked.

"You don't like Wine & Women -- you like Books & Beer!"

"That's true," I observed.

On the way home, as I was complaining to Poo, I told her the guys were teasing me mercilessly -- "for example, they said I'm not a W & W guy, I'm a B & B guy!"

"That's true!" said Poo, "Boring & Boring!"