Ken in Ratchaburi

Mekhong Sapeak????

A few days after arrival, one of the ‘old hands’ had volunteered to take me to my future place of work, 100 kilometers west of the capital. It was a welcome relief to get away from the city; its traffic, pollution and constant oppressive heat were more than enough for a while. This was my initiation into the hinterland of Thailand. Farm country. This is where my ‘older sister’ or ‘P’ had spent the past year serving local farmers as a veterinarian, and this was the place where I was going to spend the next two years of my contract working with dairy farmers. The week was a whirlwind tour of the region and an introduction to the people who were either going to make or break me in the next two years. The accommodation was good, a nice two storey house with lots of space, but inhabited by about 10 people, only two of whom could speak English, being fellow Canucks. The rest of the communication was trial and error, with the emphasis on error.

The house at the Coop

Who cares about grammar, just talk…

Most Thai people have had some sort of English-language learning, whether it be in grade school, or high school, or university. The only travesty is that so much time is spent on trying to make students experts in proper English grammar that they can’t for the life of them have a conversation – the focus is on connecting and creating sentences that are grammatically perfect; as a matter of fact, when it comes to grammar, I am sure that most Thai students could beat many native speakers in that area, but when it comes to the actual prospect of having to ‘speak’ you can see a quick flash of fear creep across their faces. I am no expert in teaching languages, even though I speak several of them fluently, but for some reason I don’t think that focusing on grammatical perfection is the right way of teaching anyone to communicate – communication comes through trial and error, not the knowledge of when to use a gerund or a verb. There is, however, a certain way to get people to talk, and I had heard often enough during the previous few days the term “Mekhong Sapeak”. I was curious about this phenomenon of a ‘talking river’ and how it could possibly entice people to open up and speak and communicate in an uninhibited manner. I was to find out just exactly how that worked during my introductory week at my new place of work.

Annual decoations at the Nong Pho Dairy Cooperative

On motorcycle through the countryside

The welcome was no less enthusiastic here than it had been in Bangkok on our arrival in the country. I rode around on the back of motorcycles, as I joined my veterinarian ‘P’ on excursions to farms near and far, or on other motorcycles driven by my future co-workers as they too traveled the countryside to visit members of the Nong Pho Dairy Cooperative. The Coop had around 2,500 members at the time, and on average we would visit between 4 – 5 members daily, aside from the paperwork and whatever else needed to be done in the office. After long hot days, I would invariably arrive back home to find my two fellow Canucks conversing with a smattering of coworkers or friends, and it was only normal that I would join the group.

Bovine bath..

On the first evening I was mostly silent, just listening in, a silly smile plastered on my face, and nodding sagely every time someone asked a question or appeared to make a comment where a reply of some sort was required. Every time there was a peal of laughter the glasses would be raised, and another round of “cheers” would be called. The great varieties of alcohol included beer – at that time the only domestic beer that was available – a form of local rum, and a potent whiskey. I learned, the hard way, that it doesn’t pay to mix the three in an evening, as the morning comes real early, and the heat of the day truly is exhausting. Regardless, the week progressed, and as we were nearing the weekend, another spontaneous gathering occurred on Friday night; this one slightly larger, with more food, and more liquid refreshments than previous such events. I probably consumed more alcohol in that one week than I had in the previous six months, but considering that I made new friends and got to know a lot more about life in general in Thailand, it was a week well spent – and the following week I was going to be somewhere else with a lot less partying and a lot more learning, so…

Mekhong really does speak

Friday night, and after a week of observing life and listening in to what to me sounded like a lot of gibberish, it seemed that everyone was much more relaxed. I wished to participate a bit more in the conversation pulsating around me, and the more alcohol consumed, it just seemed that the conversation became that much easier. Although the grammar was atrocious, the vocabulary from my inebriated friends was expansive, and I felt like we were finally communicating, or perhaps it was just my alcohol soaked brain that was interpreting things as I thought they should be. It was surprising, and I finally realized what had been meant before when I had been told that “Mekhong Sapeak”; it wasn’t a river that was speaking, although the babbling that had been going on earlier in the week had turned into a torrent by the Friday night, it was instead, the result of a different kind of water, an alcohol fueled liquid that was sold under the name Mekhong that caused the inhibitions to fall away and the data banks of English vocabulary to be scoured for meaning and utterance. I truly felt that night that I was making great progress, and that we were truly communicating. This was going to be easy, or so I thought. Fool! Go anywhere outside of your country, to someplace where they don’t speak English, and if anyone tells you they are fluent within 3 months they’re bullshitting you. Although the Friday night get together went very well, and we did connect and seemed to communicate much more than on previous occasions, it was not because of any great academic prowess, it was simply “Mekhong Sapeak”.