An interlude

The Sunday Telegraph magazine used to (and may still), have a section titled “Social Stereotypes”. Printed in the last few pages, week after week it supposedly characterised clichéd personalities. With 52 weeks in a year, these “stereotypes” soon ran out and the proverbial barrel began to be scraped.

I’d like to interject these entries of mine with a version of the aforementioned, and call it “Traveller Stereotypes”.

A few weeks ago whilst eating breakfast in Ao Nammao, my sister and I were discussing the people we’d been seeing over the course of our travels. We have agreed and standardised a convention for categorising fellow globe trotters. Yet to be ISO accredited, it is organised as follows: Type I, II, IIIa, IIIb and IV. The first of which is outlined below.

Type Is are seen frequently. They are generally tall, dominating the average height of the locals, but displaying far less dexterity. Perpetually wearing the same T-Shirt purchased at a stall for 100 baht; the image on the front is long past faded, edges are frail and holes litter the dulled pink cotton. Where most people hang shorts from their waist, instead long and baggy Aladdin-styled linen trousers dangle loosely; rippling and swaying around their ankles as they drag their feet. Sandals have been replaced with flip-flops, which have easily seen hundreds of kilometres worth of concrete scraping.

Hair is no longer demonised and is allowed to run riot. Occasionally you may find a beard jutting outwards like an ancient Egyptian statue; other times one so long that it would make you think Jesus has returned for a Seafood Pad Thai. If you’re really lucky you may see the elusive and rarely spotted hairless Type I; though they are considered endangered. Otherwise, the generic Is have the top of their heads decorated with Dreadlocks, which in the history of man have and will never suit honkies; the women even less so. Organically grown sagging man-bags replace the rucksack; it is better for the environment after all. Refusing to acknowledge the end of the 1970s, Type Is cling to their hippy ideology desperately.

The truth of the matter is that these dreaded, rough-looking dudes probably have a Father that’s the VP of Finance in a large multi-national organisation. Mumsy is no doubt kept in touch by the latest Blackberry touschscreen located in his man-bag: “Oh wonderful dear, I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. How is Elizabeth and how is the Spa?”

The girls are more likely rebelling at Mother for neglecting to purchase the prerequisite 4x AAs for the Barbie Mansion thing one Christmas, when she was young. She’s considered “cool” and “ballsy” by her Facebook friends, and thinks that life will be an endless voyage of hotels and photo opportunities.

I don’t think it’s possible to rough it in Thailand if you tried; everywhere has electricity, clean water, wireless internet access, cheap food and all of the modern conveniences us farang are used to. Please; purchase a razor and visit a hairdresser. And once you’ve realised that a uniform becomes so when lots of people chose to adorn it; dispense with the affectation and accept who you are.