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Thai Looks
They are the owners of its streets, the cultivators of its lands and the lovers of its spirit, free or slave.
They are the ones who teach us, the travelers, the wrinkles of their past and the grooves of their present.
Taliandia, who lives there?
“Aging is like climbing a great mountain: as you climb, your strength decreases, but your gaze is freer, your vision broader and more serene” (Ingmar Bergman)
This woman belongs to the tribe of the so-called “Big Ears”. She lives in a village with the “Giraffe” women, in Chiang Mai. He sold me some pants that I barely bargained for. Wise, lucid and tired. That’s how I saw it.
They have a good time doing nothing. Mornings, afternoons and nights sitting or lying on the street. Here they eat, sleep at times, talk… They live in their own temple, which is the open air. And dogs, like faithful friends, play along.
From one boat to another through the canals of Bangkok and without a common language, we understood each other perfectly. She sold, sold everything: bracelets, useless souvenirs, water and a thousand drinks. Anything to attract our attention. His smile and my thirst were enough to buy him a beer at a great price. Gold over there, I mean.
“Beauty does not look, it only looks” (Albert Einstein).
She is a girl who grew up through growth spurts. She lives in a town sold to tourism along with other “Giraffe” women. She looks at me resigned and sweet, because she is condemned. Since she was a baby she was trapped with that necklace so that her neck would lengthen. A weapon that the Thai government uses to make us buy. He has no way out or opportunities. He only lives while his neck seems to stretch. And it grows inside, but sad. And pretty.
He gets up every day at dawn. He washes a little, gets dressed, has some breakfast (probably rice) and leaves his small hut to go greet his elephant, which is not his, but as if it were. He takes him for a walk in the bright daylight and prepares him for the daily battle: showing him off to the tourists. At 9 am they begin to arrive, all in line, en masse, groups after other groups. And the circus begins. They wash the elephants, they ride them. And the elephants greet, take baths and euros with their mouths as if they were street performers. They play soccer with rubber balls. They are very trained. And the audience smiles, exclaims, applauds. And so every day. And the Thai boy caresses his elephant, which is not his but as if it were. Because it is your daily adventure companion. Because that is the life of both of us. What was the life of their ancestors like? Those of the elephant and those of the boy. I asked her name: her name is Rhai.
“To see clearly it is enough to change the direction of your gaze” (Antoine de Saint-Exupery).
They call them tuk tuks. They are three-wheeled motorcycles covered by a canvas with its moon, windshield and everything. There are thousands all over Bangkok moving 24 hours a day like fireflies in the night. It is the most common means of transportation among Thais in the capital. They have neither a fixed rate nor a flat rate. Drivers charge whatever they want depending on the moment. Before making you get on they look at you from top to bottom. They observe for three seconds with a lynx’s eye and then throw a number at their prey. You can haggle, but they get angry. My driver, in this case, was very angry. Although he won.
Like any soldier in the world, he is accompanied by his always strict rules. Always preceded by a “NO”. This precocious adult guarded the Royal Palace in Bangkok, which was under construction. Five months before this scene, Thailand experienced a coup d’état. Soldiers with police functions are key pieces on the city board. In the end you get used to them, to their icy, frozen looks. Although they don’t really look, they watch. Not even war machine guns scare tourists. Deep down it is a strange sensation: you feel protected, but not loved.
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