Somchai's day began as it always did: with a meager bowl of cold rice, eaten in silence at a table that swayed under the weight of time. His son was still asleep on the mat in the corner of the room, his face glistening with sweat. Somchai watched him, for a moment. He felt the emptiness in his pockets, the holes in his shoes, but most of all the pressure in his chest. It was hunger, not for food, but for something that would never come. Hope, perhaps.
His wooden rack felt heavier than usual as he hoisted it onto his shoulder and closed the door behind him. Outside, the early sun stung his eyes. The world seemed unconcerned with his struggle. Children played in the muddy alleys, a dog scratched itself listlessly, and an old man sat on a stool smoking as if his days were endless. For Somchai, they were not.
On the beach, the walking began. The sand was hot, the soles of his feet burned despite the thin soles of his worn-out flip-flops. He knew exactly where the tourists would be; they always came to the same places. Groups of white bodies, smeared with sunscreen, lay stretched out like sea lions on a rock. Their laughter was loud, almost mocking, and each time Somchai felt his courage break a little more.
He stopped at the first umbrella. A family with two children. The mother was on her phone, the father was building a sandcastle as if it were a grand architectural feat. Somchai adjusted his smile, like an actor perfecting his role.
“Good morning, madam, sir. Sunglasses? Hats? Very cheap.”
The father didn't look up, as if Somchai was air. The mother glanced briefly at his rack, raised her eyebrows, and returned to her screen.
“No, no,” she said irritably, waving her hand as if she were shooing away a mosquito.
Somchai nodded politely, turned and walked on. He never said anything back. He knew that words would change nothing. He felt the shame gnawing at him, but he forced himself to move on. This was his job, his destiny. Pride had no place in his world.
Hours passed. Each time the same pattern: look, reject, move on. A woman tried to haggle over a scarf, but backed down when she heard that Somchai could not lower the price any further. He had wanted to explain to her that he had hardly anything left, that those few baht could make the difference between eating and nothing. But he kept his mouth shut. It was no use anyway.
In the late afternoon, he collapsed next to Sakda, who, like him, was wandering the beach with a rack full of stuff that no one seemed to want. They shared a bottle of lukewarm water, in silence, as the sun sank lower and the beach took on golden hues.
“I had a dream once,” Sakda said suddenly, keeping his gaze on the horizon. “I was standing here on this beach, but I was wearing nothing. No rack, no caps, no sunglasses. Just myself. And everyone was looking at me, but not like now. They were really seeing me.”
Somchai looked at him. He wanted to say something, something comforting, but the words stuck in his throat. What could you say to someone who was fighting the same battle? That it would get better? That he had to keep going? They were lies, and he couldn’t afford them.
As the sun was about to touch the sea, Sakda stood up. “I’m going,” he said simply. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll have better luck.”
Somchai sat there, his gaze on a piece of washed-up plastic floating in the waves. For a moment it looked like a jellyfish, as if trying to live in a world that had no place for it. The wind lifted it up and blew it further into the water, where it disappeared.
He sighed, grabbed his rack and walked back onto the beach. Tomorrow was a new day, but he knew it would be exactly the same as today. And yet, he had to keep going. Because stopping was not an option. Standing still meant disappearing and disappearing was something he could not afford…
About this blogger
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My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.
ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.
I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.
Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!
Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.
Read the latest articles here
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CultureJanuary 15 2025'The Mystique of Thai Women'
Very special sad life story.
The tourist with his fat bank account does not know how much poverty and sorrow lies behind someone.
They have no empathy. They are on holiday and do not want to hear or see. How people live here and have to work for very little or a few mouthfuls of rice a day.
There is much suffering among the population.
But they always remain friendly to that rich tourist!
It is a beautiful story that certainly has a grain of truth in it.
The other side of the story is that these beach vendors usually have a stall in town.
From there, for example, glasses that are fake and heavily overpriced are sold, and all other items are also for sale in the town itself at the souvenir stalls for 60% less price.
For the beach vendors it is attractive to search for new tourists from their shop who pay 100% to 300% of the normal price 300 to 450 baht for a fake ray ban or even believe it or not seen it myself on the beach at Patong Phuket young people were sold 4x NY caps of 850 baht each in 2019
Of course there are also scarves etc for 150 baht which cost 80 baht in Patong itself.
Most tourists 70% know this.
Of course every beach vendor is a different person, but I am writing based on my experience of beaches on Phuket, Pattaya and Huahin.
Quote: “.You are currently better off registering as a refugee with your family in the Netherlands. Good for a maximum of 18000 euros per month.”
Really? 18.000 a month? Tell me!
Tino, a refugee who lives with his family in the Netherlands, receives a living wage of 1.741 euros per month. David is mistaken by a zero. The actual costs are higher; I sometimes hear 53.000 euros per year if I may believe Johan Derksen.
Qasim Sid and Dhaahin Madoobe came to the Netherlands from Somalia in 2010, at the time with twelve children. After a year and a half in an asylum seekers' centre in Winterswijk, they moved to Weert, where the Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA) matched them with a home. In the Netherlands, they had three more children, so that the family eventually consists of seventeen people. Their home in Weert is actually composed of two homes of one hundred square metres each, originally intended to house people with a disability. All together, benefits, rent allowances, child benefit and etc. about 18K per month. You can find this on various news sites
A while ago there was a message in one of the digital Dutch newspapers about a refugee family with a handful of children who had made off with an extreme benefit.
Apparently, Dad had yet to arrive and the photo of mothers and children gave little reason to think that cost-covering activities by the family would be possible in the next fifteen years.
It was not benefits, but everything piled up, living expenses, child benefits, subsidies, debt relief, rent, in short, everything a shrewd social worker could scrape together.
I can't help but get the impression that there are AOW recipients who are worse off at the bottom of the Japanese counting machine at the end of the month, and yes, that hurts, that's a plus point for David.
As for the subject, these are often people who do not have Thai nationality and therefore try to earn a living with that kind of sales, a profession if you will.
The earnings are often minimal as many do it, The Dead Horse Theory, most have never heard of it. Thai authorities should put the brakes on this kind of sales, but then that same foreigner also screams bloody murder.
Of course, it looks quite 'funny' on the holiday video, doesn't it?