Rosta talks to the Isaan working girls in Pattaya about Buddha and buffaloes Rosta's mate Rosta has got it in for the Isaan folk whom he sees as scroungers and exploiters, and nothing gets his goat more than a treasure-seeker. He has had one or t...
Rosta talks to the Isaan working girls in Pattaya about Buddha and buffaloes
Rosta has got it in for the Isaan folk whom he sees as scroungers and exploiters, and nothing gets his goat more than a treasure-seeker. He has had one or two bad experiences over the years and if he listens to a typical Isaan bar girl in Pattaya for too long his eyes whirl in a fine frenzy.
Last night, it was sad, amusing and entertaining to hear him demolishing two in a matter of minutes.
“But,” says Rosta, “what about Buddha? He didn’t try to get as much money as he could.”
“Oh,” says the bar girl, staring hard at Rosta before arguing in her broken English, “he live long ago, not same today.”
Rosta nods wisely, stares the girl similarly, and says, “You can say that again. But,” he continues, “Thailand is a Buddhist country…” The girl nods glumly. “…so your country must believe in his teachings.”
“Me go,” she says (the equivalent of “You’re wasting my time.”).
Having a laugh — at Rosta?
We move on to another bar, all on the dark side of Pattaya, and another treasure-seeker makes the mistake of talking to Rosta.
“So,” says the great man shaking his head as if contradicting his own flow of argumentative eloquence, “what would your dream farang be like? Good farang same what?” he clarifies in EngThai.
Looking happy she pours forth, “Fifty thousand baht a month, a car, a house…”
Rosta interrupts, “Haven’t you forgotten the buffalo? Wouldn’t you like the odd buffalo or two thrown in for good measure?”
She thinks she understands him, and the dream is so potent she says, “Yes, buffalo important, too.”
“What,” says her interrogator, “would your lover get in return?” He already knows the answer because he is muttering under his breath to me, “Me take care he good good.”
Pausing with the dream-light still vividly lit, she replies, “Me take care he good good.”
We leave the bar with Rosta swearing heartily.
buffaloes thrown in for good measure