The Funeral Crashers

About six years ago, during my very first trip to and through Thailand, I finally made my way down to Phuket after having travelled North and Central Thailand for a couple of weeks. Not ever having been to Phuket before I chose to stay at the only YHA hostel on the island.

As far as the location of the hostel was concerned that was probably not a wise decision to make. It’s situated in the southern central part of Phuket, only a ten minute walk from Wat Chalong, meaning, it’s pretty damn far to any of the beaches, not to mention the nightlife spots.

Being a chickenshit when it came to renting a motorbike on the island after having heard a fair share of stories about all the accidents happening on Phukets’ roads involving tourists, I first felt pretty isolated. Nonetheless I decided to stick with the place. I was staying for four days only anyway. With hindsight it actually turned out to be not the worst place to stay.

Having arrived at the hostel in the late afternoon, unfamiliar with the island and not yet having figured out how to get around efficiently either, I decided to first find myself a nice place to have some dinner at along the road.

Talking to the young receptionist who had helped me to my room key earlier on, asking her about my chances of getting some good food somewhere in the vicinity, she immediately pointed out a restaurant supposedly very popular with locals. Best of all, it’s only about one kilometer down the road.

So off I went, walking down the busy road watching the sun set behind the hills, in company of an English girl about my age who had arrived only an hour before me and just as me was hungry for some good Thai food.

On our way we passed a few small food stalls lined up along the sides of the road, and even though some of them apparently had some delicious treats on display, we decided to continue our pleasant stroll to the recommended restaurant.

After fifteen minutes of relaxed walking and talking we finally arrived at the place. The girl at the hostel hadn’t been telling lies; the place was just packed with locals. It had at least twenty tables out in the open in front of a medium sized concrete building. Almost all tables but two were occupied, and except for us two there was no other tourist in sight.

Having a great desire to fill our empty stomachs we approached one of the two tables and sat down. We did notice how some of the people around glanced at us somewhat curiously, but most didn’t even acknowledge us as they were too busy with eating and chatting loudly and happily.

After a minute or two a girl in her late teens arrived, waied the two of us, poured us a glass of water, and left a plate with some rather sweat rice treats which I at that time couldn’t identify for what they were. Then she left our table again and scurried back into the kitchen, only to re-emerge shortly after, carrying large plates with different kinds of food piled up on them, taking them to the tables adjacent to ours.

The food looked just great, and I was really starving by now, but oddly enough the waitress didn’t return to our table to take our order. She seemed busy, but still passed our table frequently enough to notice our humble attempts to get her attention. Eventually I did manage to make her stop at our table again.

“Can we see the menu please?”

The girl blushed, turned around, and swiftly walked away again without saying a word. I followed her with my eyes to the entrance of the restaurant where two middle aged, rather well dressed, Thai men were standing, now looking our way.

The girl talked to them, pointing in our direction, and shortly after returned to our table in their company. I wasn’t sure what to expect. The two guys definitely didn’t look as if they were the cook and the manager of the place.

Reaching our table, the taller of the two guys addressed me in very good English:

“Excuse me, do you want any more water?”

“Sure, that would be great, but mostly we’d appreciate to order some food.”

The tall guy replied: “You get more water, no problem. You get more snacks, no problem, but sorry there is no menu at this time”.

The English girl and I exchanged puzzled looks: “Well if there isn’t any menu, no problem, we’ll just have whatever the people at the table next to us are having.”

“I am sorry no menu. You are welcome!” the guy repeated himself and then walked away, exchanging some words with the waitress.

Five minutes later she returned with two plates piled with tasty looking food. We politely said thank you and, starving as both of us were, starting digging into our meals. It was absolutely delicious by all means. A good variety of different dishes, noodles, fish, fried rice, and fruits. We absolutely loved it. It was just what we had been looking for.

At the time we finished the meal it had already gotten dark. We decided to ask for the check and then walk back to our hostel, as both of us agreed on the fact how tired and pleasantly full we were.

Instead of the girl one of the men who had talked to us earlier approached our table again. I asked him politely if he could maybe tell the waitress to bring our check. The man smiled and said. “No check, you are my guests.”

Surprised as I was by this unanticipated generosity I asked: “Thank you very much, but what’s the occasion? This certainly isn’t necessary!

“This party is for my brother. He dead one week. He crash motorbike.”

All of the sudden we started to realize what was happening at this place. We had unintentionally invited ourselves to a private funeral celebration which was held at the restaurant this night. God, I did feel embarrassed for not noticing this, but then again there were no signs whatsoever that would have made it obvious to me. The English gal and I rose from our chairs and profusely apologized to the man for our intrusion, offering one more time to pay for our meals and then go about to leave the place immediately.

He smiled at us generously: “You stay for more snacks, okay…!?”

© Akulka. All rights reserved by the author.

The author can be reached at  E-mail: argonaut942@gmail.co