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The room is about ten feet by eight feet. But it seems smaller because it is crammed full. Along one wall are a washer and dryer, fronted by packages of detergent and piles of dirty and clean laundry, while another has a beaten metal table containing two gas burners for cooking. On the table beside the burners is a large collection of well-used bottles of fish and chilli sauces, with dribbles of dried sauce down the sides. The other two walls have more shelving containing plates, bowls, cutlery, and other items useful for daily living. In front of one shelf, a large belt sander sits on the floor, which is bare and unfinished concrete.
It's evening and dark outside; the room is dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the roof.
There are three doorways, all open, one leading to a tiled hallway, another leading to some steps dropping onto dirt, with the jungle a few feet beyond that. The last door opens into a sleeping room which contains a mattress which lays directly on the concrete floor as well as some sparse furnishings of a few tables covered in clothes and personal items.
Occupying a large part of the center of the main room is an old wooden table, which rises only a mere half foot off of the concrete floor. On the table is a one-litre plastic water bottle, a couple of plates containing the left-overs of a meal, one plate with a few pieces of chicken in some type of curry sauce, and another with a mix of vegetables. There is also a plastic bag containing raw cloves of garlic.
On the floor, sitting cross-legged around the table are three young Thai men. Beside them is an older Thai man, named Tip, sitting on a child-sized plastic chair, playing a guitar. I am beside Tip, sitting on another plastic chair. Tip is the owner of the guesthouse in Pai, Baan Tawan, where I stayed seven years ago on my first visit to Pai. I decided to return to see what has changed over the years and visit with Tip.
When I arrived, I immediately recognized Tip. The years seems to have been kind to him and made very little change from how I remembered him. I don't think Tip remembered me, but I wasn't surprised as he meet new travelers every day, most lingering only for a few days. But I told him stories of how Pai provided some of my fondest memories of Thailand, like those of him whiling away the hot hours of the day by sitting on the porch playing old Eagles songs like Hotel California, and of the pool table in the yard on which the balls rolled by themselves because it wasn't nearly level.
Tip quickly warmed to the thoughts, and putting his arm around me, invited me into the back room where he was relaxing with some of him staff. In fact, they were doing more than a little relaxing, as I soon found out that the one-litre plastic water bottle on the table actually contained what they called tequila. In fact, it did taste like tequila, surprisingly pleasant and smooth, despite the uncharming bottle
So, there we sat for several hours, Tip and I, and three of his staff, playing songs on the guitar - everything from the Beatles to Thai songs - singing and clapping, alternately prompting each other to take shots from the water bottle. In between songs, Tip and I chatted about what was and what has become in with him and I, Pai, Thailand, and the larger world. As the tequila took effect, heads bobbed and singing got louder until Tip's sister, sitting at front reception desk, suggested we call it a night.
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