The Thai Captain Jack Sparrow

Uncle John's Restaurant has become one of our favorite hangout spots because everything else in this tiny town closes around 6pm. It is even named in the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand. The walls are reddish orange in the dim light, which faintly illuminates two huge terrariums. Water trickles down from the ceiling on a glass panel and continues in a stream running under the bamboos in the darker corners. The waiter serves Spicy Squid Salad with a rainbow-colored parrot on his shoulder.

While we were drinking Singha and eating cracknuts, a motorcycle thrusted straight into the restaurant. The driver, in a black leather jacket and a dusty helmet, brought the bike to an abrupt stop. The waiting staff made way for him to drive through and park right next to the bar. We all turned around and looked, "Who does he think he is? Does he think he own this place?"

He does actually own this place. It was Uncle John himself! A firm handshake and he sat down to have a beer with us. Instantly there's something intriguing about him. He was about mid-40s, born in Bangkok, spent 18 years in London. Upon return to Thailand 8 years ago, he opened this restaurant that serves select western food and plays Madonna on big plasma TV from 8am to 12am. Two ivory beads on a bronze chain dangled from his neck, occasionally beating against his open white linen shirt. Dark amber stones encircling his wrists made clicking noises as he gestured enthusiastically with his hands. This man, lean, dark and slightly hunched, talked about smuggling goods across the Thai-Burma border, but also collecting donation to help children. He’s like Captain Jack Sparrow, real life Thai version.

My first two days in Mae Sai, Thailand

My entire body stooped to the right. Extremely ignorant of the natural phenomenon, I thought maybe the malarone drug was starting to have crazy effects on me. Getting malaria or dealing with the dizziness and headaches of the prophylaxis, I chose the latter. I couldn’t register why the walls were shaking before my eyes until somebody yelled, “Earthquake!” I stood there with pen and paper still in my hands ready to continue our activism workshop. Apparently the last time they felt anything like that was during the Tsunami. And later that day we found out from the news that there had been a 6.1 earthquake in Laos, which is not very far from Mae Sai, a northern Thailand town on the border with Burma.

For dinner we sat at this restaurant called the Melting Pot. The balcony over looked the Mekong River, which separates Burma from Thailand. The river was literally running under our feet. The moon light put a silver veil on everything. The view was spectacular, maybe that’s not the right word. The Burmese side of the river was completely dark except the border patrol posts. In sharp contrast, the Thai side of the river was well-lit by cars, street lamps, and restaurants. Listening to the water splashing against the shore, I wondered if we will see any refugees trying to escape to the Thai side tonight, which the owner assured us happens daily.