Tis the time of the year that you’ll likely happen upon roadside stalls selling kites of all shapes and sizes, but the purveyors of these feats of aeronautical engineering generally look like they live in a puddle and were raised on a diet of raw rat and methamphetamine, so with this in mind I tend to spurn their nasal blatherings and zip past them briskly on my motorcycle. This is actually a great shame as I’m really quite partial to a spot of chuck – wow, it was in fact a rather time consuming hobby during my teens and seeing the vast array of kites on show along any road or street worth its salt, seemed to rekindle a lost passion.
So as my luck would have it, when I arrived at my local shop a few mornings ago with a view to relieve the fridge of half a dozen Yakults, I couldn’t see for the presence of kites. The shop-keeper, whose stock ranges from eels to shotgun shells, had used his entrepreneurial instincts to buy every single fucking kite in a 200 kilometre radius and was now actively flaunting his wares to anybody that passed his premises, and as is the wont of the Issan village, they were selling like hotcakes. Not wanting to appear to make a proverbial bandwagon jump, I waited patiently for the onslaught of excited customers to leave before choosing my own weapon. I opted for the most expensive kite in the shop which, after parting with a few shillings for an extra 100 foot length of string, came to a staggering grand total of 23 of your Earth baht. Since I was paying top dollar I insisted that I should leave with the display model which was the only red one left, as no self respecting gentleman would be seen dead flying a yellow kite – ‘I’d rather perform cunnilingus on old lady Waraporn who sleeps in the ditch’ I informed the purveyor of all things airborne. Of course, there was no come back to this confession and I left the shop hastily, red kite ensconced under my arm, eager to start the flying process.
I returned home to somewhat of a hero’s welcome from my children and the pair of reprobates from next door who seem to think I like them being in my house and after assembling the whopping 20 baht airbus, which took less the one second, we made a beeline for the back of my abode into a suitable opening.
A generous amount of effing and blinding ensued as string became tangled, wind became uncooperative and pieces of the kite started to fall off. However, the violent hurling of obscenities into the country air came to an abrupt end when I managed to muster a 100 metre sprint and finally got the fucking thing afloat. Coos of admiration proceeded as the children’s gazes followed the dramatically ascending kite. It was passed around for a few minutes, a discarded plastic water bottle being used for a handle, and after a short while I was met with a selection of confused looks – ‘What happens next then?’ the little faces appeared to enquire.
The nerve of some people! I worked like a fucking Trojan to get this fucking thing airborne. What happens next is you watch that small piece of red material up there flying, consistently I might add, at 150 feet above the ground – it’s ART, no more, no less.
But alas, the young minds were obviously not ready for such levels of abstract symbology and promptly sauntered back to the solace of Ben 10 and Barbie.
I, on the contrary, retrieved a magnificiently digestible book of short stories from the breakfast bar and spent the rest of the day reading and flying my kite. A day thoroughly well spent..
Spectacular surroundings ..
Art..
Book..
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