Noisy Neighbours

The people next door are at it again, making trouble in our backyard. If something's not done quickly, they may even claim to have invented the pavlova

15/11/2009
Bangkok Post

Once again Thailand is having a spat with one of its neighbours. This happens on a regular basis and in a clockwise direction, which is a very civilised way of doing things. Thailand will have a fight with Malaysia over its harbouring of southern Muslim terrorists, then it's Burma's turn - usually about some human rights atrocity, the type they have become so good at.

Once that dies down the Laotians are up in arms over a disparaging remark a Thai pop star has made about Vientiane girls, then we start shooting impoverished Cambodian soldiers in the name of a stone temple perched on a cliff. That completes the cycle, and we're back at Malaysia again.

This week we're at the throats of Phnom Penh because Cambodian oojara stirrer Hun Sen has teamed up with his Thai equivalent to poke and prod our Abhisit. Leave him alone, I say! It reminds me of my days as a little boy at Sunnybank State School in Brisbane, Australia, when evil blinking Mark Racey (he had a facial tic) and local buffoon Ronald Finlay used to bash me up simply because I came first in class.

One time they even shoved my Mr Whippy ice-cream cone into my face and everybody laughed at me - to this day if I meet somebody who blinks strangely, I immediately hear somebody cajoling me: "That Mr Whippy's gonna end up in ya FACE!"

Hun Sen and Thaksin Shinawatra are this century's Mark Racey and Ronald Finlay, and the quietly-spoken good-looking cerebral one is Abhisit Vejjajiva. They're staring him down as you read this, cajoling: "That extradition request's gonna end up in ya FACE!" (If only one of them blinked that would really complete the picture. No facial tics among these two, though have you noticed Hun Sen has an ungainly mouth?)

There is no cause for alarm. We have seen far, far worse between Thailand and its dubious neighbours and I can say in the 20 years I have been here this latest one rates a five on the Richter Scale. Only once in 20 years have we had a spat that registered a mighty eight or nine. Would you like to hear about it?

It happened way back in the mid-nineties. We'd just had some scuffle with Burma which I can't remember - tortured minority groups, Aung Sang Suu Kyi, whatever - and things had settled down when a disturbing piece of news trickled down from the neighbouring country next in line.

The Laotian Government was to stage a cultural fair displaying all things Laotian. There would be displays of traditional Laotian dancing (which, though I hasten to describe as "exquisite" and "delicate", makes even traditional Thai dancing look vaguely entertaining), beautiful Laotian silk, and "wonderful opportunities to sample delicious traditional Laotian food such as somtam, which has its origins in Laos".

I beg your pardon? You couldn't kick Thailand between the legs any harder if you'd ask the country to spread its legs. Somtam comes from Laos? That's like saying to an American: "Your apple pie is delicious, but you know it originates in Canada." Or to an Australian: "Lovely dessert, your pavlova, but it's a New Zealand recipe, of course." Or a Brit: "How curious that Big Ben should have been modelled on a traditional French village clock tower."

The Thais were adamant. Their spicy raw-papaya, chilies, nuts and shrimp concoction came from red-blooded North-Easterners who have made it the staple for every Thai, particularly stick-insect-thin office girls who munch on it every lunchtime because glua oo-an (they are afraid of getting fat). No, that's not the reason. They eat it for the same reason everybody does; it's the most delicious dish on earth.

And it comes from Thailand, as was sternly decreed by Thai government ministers, business leaders, high-ranking monks, game show hosts and stars of local soap operas. Even comedians took a break from their hilarious routines of dressing up as women or parading Downs Syndrome men on stage to condemn Thailand's nasty North-Eastern neighbour for daring to say somtam wasn't Thai.

One Thai academic came out sheepishly saying there was evidence that yes, perhaps, maybe, somtam could have, y'know, originated around the Vientiane region of the world and, um, he had old papers to prove it. I recall he was dragged onto Silom Road, stripped naked, his arms and legs attached to four tuk-tuks that drove off simultaneously in four separate directions at the shrill blast of a police whistle, after which his genitals were cut off and fed to the ducks (see this column a fortnight ago). Was there anybody else who'd like to join him?

One of the reasons I like Thais so much is they know when to quit. In this particular international incident, the more we protested, the more disturbing the evidence that came out. Another academic (via midnight postings of A-4 sized proclamations around the Surawong neighbourhood) pointed out that chillis are not native to Thailand, or Laos, and arrived in this country in the 16th century via the Portuguese, who bought them from Central America.

Then the king-hit; neither are papaya trees! They first sprouted up as recently as 200 years ago from foreign visitors. Something far worse than Laotian somtam was rearing its ugly head - the ingredients are farang. Then there was an academic who pointed out that, well, actually Laos and Thailand and Cambodia were the same country up until 100 or so years ago before the French stepped in and mucked things up in their usual way, so why are we even debating the origins of this dish?

The clever Thais knew what they had to do. They put their heads down and went back to work as if nothing had happened. Game show hosts took up their microphones and the Downs Syndrome comedian was dusted off and dragged back onstage. The academic's arms, legs and nether regions were reattached and he was wheeled back to university. Life went back to normalcy in this wonderful country, until, of course, the clockwise motion moved towards Cambodia for a new dispute.

I'd like to wrap up this story by telling you Mark Racey and Ronald Finlay ended up in prison serving life sentences for murder, glorious retribution for their heinous acts inflicted upon me as a child with a Mr Whippy cone. Tragically, Mark lost his tic and became a successful model and Ronald Finlay became a barrister.

I ran into the latter as an adult and he was thrilled to see me and catch up on what I'd done since leaving Sunnybank. He has a wife and two kids, as has Mark, who now lives in Sydney and runs his own business. That makes two out of three of us "having lived happily ever after". Rats.

Oh, and pavlova? It really does come from New Zealand.