The Golden Hour of Laan Sukaprok
(Part 4)
©  - Travelers' Net

- text by Joe Josef
-pictures by trv.net

Funky old coffin

I have a lot of fond memories of the Laan Sukaprok. The other day I awoke early to the sight of a horse munching pineapple in the garden. My mia noi said mai pen rai. It was just some neighbor's animal paying a visit.

I decided to get up anyway and have myself a drink. The only place to go at that time of day was - you guessed it - the dirty shop, Laan Sukaprok. My old Honda Dream knew the route by heart. All I had to do was to lean back, close my eyes and let it roll.

Laan Sukaprok was twinkling its neonlights into the face of dawn, billowing clouds of chili-smoke steamed from its kitchen-corner. In other words, things were what they used to be. I tried to order a Bia Chang, but as all the waitresses were busy picking noses and studying the decade-old poster on the wall depicting a fat baby child with oily substance dripping down the surface I had to serve myself. I opened the lid of the coffin - they still had that funky old Thai "refrigerator" filled with ice at that time - and pulled a bottle up from under the ice chunks. I rejected the so-called "bottle opener" - an old, rusty, worn-out thing welded to the metal housing and used my lighter to pry the beer open. Then it started to rain. At first it was the typical Phuket wash that hits you without any warning. Shlamm - there it is, like somebody pulled the plug on Niagara.

Concert of life

But only few minutes later the heavy rain stopped and turned into a steady fizzle. The world was gray, wet and warm. A tall, blond ladyman with breasts quelling out of his short sleeved shirt and quivering buttocks stood at the counter in anticipation of a plateful mee jinn… when the monks appeared. First there was one, then there was two and three and four. Like pregnant storks they walked barefooted in the rain, beggarbowls concealed under the robes.

The ladyman stiffened. Then he grabbed his freshly arrived food and donated it to the senior monk, who opened his stomach like a creature out of "Total Recall". The noodles disappeared into the womb and the tall, blond lady who once had been a black-haired boy bowed down, fell to her knees and received the monk's blessing.

Rah rah rah, ohn ohng ohng…

Rain, sex, old rite. There was something in the air that morning. Like a wind blowing out of eternity it grabbed my stony heart and made my eyes water. Here I sat on my old plastic chair in the old Laan Sukaprok in the middle of rainy season. And somehow the whole picture - the Nubian princesses, the office clerks, the katoys and the pregnant monks all added up to… I do not know what.

Tears in the rain. Stirrings in the river of life. Eternally evolving the wheel of kharma. Like fleeing melodies in the concert of life.