No Secrets

In some countries I’ve visited, people have stared and pointed at me because I look different. Here in Thailand, it’s generally no big deal when a farang (foreigner) passes by. Sometimes I hear Thais talk about me, when they think I don’t understand, but mostly I get lulled into thinking I’m blending in.

An exception is with merchants. I’ve been asked if I want what I had last time—at shops where my only previous visit was months beforehand. Or consider the dozens of motorcycle taxi drivers at one end of our street. They take several passengers a day to various government buildings in the neighborhood. But I’ve only ridden home with them a few times since we’ve lived in this neighborhood. Usually I’d rather walk.

One night last week I was tired and it was late. I caught the eye of one of the drivers, a guy I’m sure I had never seen before. But he must have seen me. As I got on the back of his motorcycle, he called out the name of our apartment. So much for invisibility.