…are likely to be Chinese.
Sukhumviet road hosts six lanes of congested traffic, an elevated skytrain, tables of tourist goods, pimps, hookers and a mosaic of peoples and language. The lanes, which branch off, are home to tailors and travel agents, massage salons and hotels, sidewalks congested with tables and stainless steel carted street food, and off of Soi 11, near the Nana skytrain station; the Suk 11 guesthouse.
What could have been another featureless concrete block of rooms has been transformed into an appealing wood and brick maze of guesthouse delight. In 2003 reservations were as required as a wool sweater. They have build steadily on their appeal to the traveler who is not interested in the foreigner ghetto of Koh San road. If affordable accommodations that allow for the opportunity to rub elbows with fellow travelers from all over the globe is your cup of tea, the Suk 11 is for you. It is one of the few hotels that has an expressed policy of no sex tourists. They will toss you out without a refund should you use their cozy operation as a landing pad for amorous amusement by the hour. Smoking in your room, or general unruly behavior is also grounds for dismissal. Increasingly, Chinese is one of the common languages that wafts amongst the jasmine and mosquitoes.
I’m familiar with the voluminous punch of an argument in Chinese. This one steamrollers through the usually lively, but polite buzz of Suk 11’s teak and brick lobby. Shortly afterwards two anger and adrenaline soaked Beijing girls seek out my Chinese-English skills.
They think there is a language miscommunication. They are wrong. It is a cultural divide that they have failed to navigate.
They are not untypical of the modern young Beijing professional. These two are accustomed to a diet of privilege and favoritism that their jobs at one of the government television stations affords them. They think their rules apply.
There is indeed a misunderstanding about the amount of time they had agreed to stay, but when one of the girls sharpens her Beijing tongue on the owner, the previously option of more time in this quiet corner of Bangkok vanishes like protesters do from Tiananmen Square.
I really thought it was useless to act as their go-between, but I’ve received lots of help in my time in China; repaying debts of kindness greases the wheels of karma.
“Boss, these girls are afraid that perhaps their English is lacking, and as a result you misunderstood what they where trying to say.” The owner, now well seasoned from years of dealing with unruly guests is quite clear, “I understood them well enough, their English is fine. The problem is not their language. It is their attitude.”
“Sorry girls, you are out of here.”
They start to windup the buzzsaw of entitlement.
“Forget it, forget it!”
It is the Chinese word salve that means game over; walk away.
In the ensuring postmortem they are insistent there simply must be a way to talk the boss into letting them stay. “Girls, you are not in China, you are not in Beijing.”
In China no way can mean “I can not do that”, “I don’t know how to do that“, ”you need to bribe me”, or “you need to ask someone else.” No way usually means there is another way. It is quite different from “that’s inconvenient”. When you hear that, you know you are fucked.
.
Eventually the girls figure out that language and culture are not the same thing. Wearing their Beijinger worldview eyes they had translated “no way” into the belief that were was an opportunity, and that their aggressive Beijing stance would abracadabra open a not yet seen door.
After these past four months of dealing with PMPH’s pretend HR department, it is now my turn to observe angry foreigners, as these Beijinger’s bite down on the “I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore” taste of cultural frustration. They have no idea how well I can relate.