Giving birth in Thailand - a dad's perspective

We had opted for a Thai maternity hospital over the farang-catering alternative, not especially for reasons of cost (although there is a significant difference). Like many things in Thailand, it sort of 'just happened'. Total cost around 150 euros, for three nights board, lodging, paracetemol (epidural analgesia not an option), and care. The more luxurious alternatives would cost 700 or 800 euros up. There is a cheaper version still, for the truly impoverished. I dread to think what that must be like...

(click on any of the images in this blog to see the full-size photos ...)


To properly compare the Thai version of the maternity hospital to its European equivalent requires more than sketchy memories of the latter, and mine are pretty hazy with respect to events long past. Three children born in both England and France before, and I was present during their births (the youngest is 13, the oldest 20). Vague recollections of sterile conditions and ultra-efficient, schoolmarmly nurses and midwives in England, removing all need of personal initiative, especially from the dad; whose role in events during childbirth and the next few days in hospital was pretty minimal from the little I can remember. Maybe things have changed since, but back then I seemed to be little more than a tolerated occasional spectator. Similar memories from France, except for more laid-back nurses, and perhaps a slightly less strict approach to the whole process. The father was definitely something of a spare part on both sides of the English Channel.

The cleaner strolls by on the balcony outside our 'VIP' room

Ploy (pronounced Poy) had decided at the last minute that although she wanted me very close by, she didn't really want me there watching. "We not do in Thailand" as she put it. One of those transparently vague LoS (Land Of Smiles) assertions where you never really get to the truth of the matter. If you've any sense, you just resignedly give in and let your Thai spouse have her way. Direct, potentially embarrassing questions asked of any Thai, male or female, are pointless and mostly lead you into red herring exchanges. They leave you totally confused and having forgotten what you wanted to know in the first place. Forcefully interrogating your Thai partner can have considerably worse repercussions. It will certainly result in the same confusion on your part, but with varying degrees of unspoken and enduring reproach at your crass farang lack of subtlety and respect added in. This can last for hours. Many hours. It isn't worth it. So I dutifully followed instructions and waited nervously nearby. Meanwhile a troop of a dozen student doctors and nurses filed in for the moment of truth, apparently with full permission to observe. It seems that they were all keen to witness the arrival of a sizeable, long-limbed half-farang baby girl, born of a relatively diminutive Thai mum. Oh well, there must be a logic to it somewhere. Just not a Western one...

There was one other farang father at the hospital

The Chiang Mai Maternity Hospital is housed in a smallish, rather delapidated building. When I first arrived, I quickly felt that there was something missing. Just couldn't put my finger on it. Then it dawned - this was a hospital, yet it didn't have the remotest 'clinical' smell - that powerful antiseptic odour that you can almost taste as soon as the sliding doors part, wherever you are in the West. People have different reactions to this smell. To some it is simply reassuring. To others it may evoke suppressed and painful memories of the suffering of those close to you. Despite recalling mainly the latter, I've clearly been programmed to find its absence rather worrying. I was worried.

The 'VIP' private room

When Natthaya had eventually entered the world under the curious eyes of multiple Thai strangers, she and I were introduced in a ward with very simple facilities, home to some twenty mums and recently arrived offspring. Soon after we were transferred to our 'VIP' private room. I wasn't exactly anticipating 5 star luxury, but was hardly reassured. I suppose it was just about adequate for the purpose (how hard it is for Westerners to overcome that niggling critical sense of somehow always expecting, as well as being entitled to better)...

Sink in kitchen next to WCs - also serving as baby bath

The 'VIP' room had no shower room or WC. The toilets and showers were at the end of the corridor. The sink in one corner was a transit point for a never-ending procession of tiny ants, which fortunately didn't seem to wish to deviate from their chosen route to explore bed or sofa during our three day stay. The cleaner was a young guy in battered trainers who called in two or three times daily at random times. He emptied the bins, then half-heartedly swept about a third of the floor area and followed up with a five second mopping of the floor that left no smell of cleaning agents whatsoever. On day one he noticed the ants. "Mód!" (ants), he said. (Day three and checking out now, and the ants are apparently under no threat of eviction at all).

The emergency button conveniently located on the wall by the window

The emergency button was up on the wall in an inaccessible area nowhere near the bed. Mothers who can only move with considerable difficulty, especially shortly after childbirth, had to lift themselves out of bed, walk across the room, lean over the sofa and stretch up to reach it - or so I thought at the time. The TV remote only worked at less than 5 cms from the TV. The volume control on the TV itself only had an 'up' button. There was the option of an ancient and deafening air conditioning unit, or a single-speed ceiling-mounted rotating fan that produced wind speeds of hurricane force.

Soon after the birth an animated professional conference was held in our room of which I understood nothing. Those concerned expressed surprise when I asked to know what was happening. Hardly any nurses spoke English in a hospital that sees rare farang fathers and no farang mothers, so the few answers bore no relation to my questions. A passing doctor eventually proved helpful in that internationally familiar, hard-pressed, doctorly manner. Apparently Ploy had to go for a minor follow-up operation the following morning, and I was required to sign some documents. In Thai of course - I could have signed my life savings over to the hospital, I had no idea what it was about.

Fortunately with the aid of pictures I was able to bath baby during mum's three hour absence...

I asked about the position of the alarm button, and how mothers could call the nurse if they weren't able to get out of bed. Bemused looks were directed at the stupid farang, and one replied "You press". "But in the middle of the night", I insisted, "what then?" "You press", came the answer. It was slowly sinking in. Thai maternity hospitals, once the birth proper is over, are pretty much D.I.Y. affairs. A nurse might pop by at random to take the baby's temperature or a blood sample, but everything else is down to the family. I discovered that a mother is not allowed to stay alone in a 'VIP' room, which meant that I was to stay overnight. I looked around. Thais will sleep happily on a plank of wood, so I could hardly complain at the prospect of bedding down on a hard sofa that was a good 12 inches too short for an average-sized farang. Sleepless night number one ensued. At least the ants left me alone.

Day two dawned, and while I was still in an early morning sleep-deprived daze, Ploy was whisked off for the op. There I was with 15 hour old baby, some hurriedly extracted breast milk in a container with no teat, and several completely disinterested, non English-speaking Thai nurses allegedly on the end of an intercom. Help. HELP!

Prayers to Buddha helped little in my predicament

I survived three hours of absent mum, improvising with boiling water-sterilised teaspoon. Natthaya was not impressed. Got through two more days and sleepless nights, and with huge relief am now back at home. It was a reminder of how we in the West are losing our sense of personal responsibility and initiative. Back in so-called civilisation, we seem to have reached the point where we expect someone from the state to be there to hold our hands at all times. We must appear to be pretty feeble and helpless to people raised in tougher circumstances...

So the jury is still out. Do I admit to being a pampered, soft Westerner, and say that had I known in advance what to expect, I would definitely have gone for the farang-catering McCormick hospital in town? Or do I pretend to have benefited from the experience and having improvised my way through some difficult moments? Well, if I were to be really honest...

Caveat Emptor? Bar For Sale...

Two for the price of one yesterday. After the Alain and Jeff debacle, I happened on Dave. Dave had been on several trips to Thailand over the years, and had finally decided to take the plunge. Buy-a-bar syndrome was contracted during the summer of 2008 from young Nok, the early symptoms being multiple rushes of blood to the brain - as well no doubt as to other parts of the body - followed by the rapid onset of insanity.

Dave bought a bar from Nok's auntie. Nok's auntie somehow contrived to get him to agree to buy the business without using lawyers. Buddhist temple-sized warning bells should have sounded straight away, but Nok convinced him that this was the way things are done in Thailand. Dave happily signed on the dotted line for a bar - greatly resembling the one in the photo below - for the nice round figure of £10,000. Not so bad, you reckon? Well bear in mind that he was only buying the business, not the land or the property itself, with a four year lease - and there was a sizeable monthly rental to pay. Not forgetting the sums allegedly payable for 'security assistance' to the forces of law and order.

This is NOT the bar in question - although I'm sure its owner would welcome any offers!

The premises themselves were nicely furnished and fully equipped. Fridges, a brand new recently installed bar, a small kitchen, a good stock inventory. For Dave, a dream come true. Until the big day arrived.

The night before, Nok's auntie - with a little help from friends - paid the bar one last visit. It was stripped of everything; the stock, the bar, the equipment, the tables and chairs, the cookers and fridges... even the photos from the walls. The police were called, but with the Thai equivalent of a Gallic shrug they told Dave that there was nothing they could do. The lease agreement (in Thai) - which supposedly made full mention of the fixtures, fittings and stock - was not worth the paper it was written on. Other than the part confirming his duty to pay the monthly rental, of course.

So opening night consisted of a devastated Dave, with a couple of sympathetic passing farangs curious to find out why the owner was sat on the floor of an empty bar, sharing a bottle of Sang Som Thai rum purchased from the 7-Eleven across the road.

Could it possibly get worse? Oh yes.

Dave bit the bullet and restocked, bought some cheap furniture. Soon-to-be wife Nok found a ladyboy friend who was supposed to be an experienced bar manager, and who would look after the late evening trade. Things were looking up. Well, they were certainly looking up for the ladyboy manager, and for his friends and late passers-by who were invited in to party into the small hours. The manager was pocketing all of the proceeds from the sale of drinks at below cost price. Dave only found out when one customer refused to pay his bill during the daytime, insisting that his bottle of Chang beer should always be charged at the same price, and only last night it had cost him just 30 baht (normally more than twice that).

A quick stock inventory revealed that Dave had lost another small fortune. Kicking the ladyboy manager out gave him no real satisfaction. He'd been had yet again.

Unknown to Dave though, the killer blow was yet to come. He'd received a letter that day. Indecipherable, as his Thai was non-existent, and for some reason, Nok - who had to make a sudden trip away into the jungle somewhere to see her sick mum - was reluctant to explain the contents just before she left. A helpful Thai customer smilingly translated.

"This is to confirm that work on the new condominium building will commence on December 1st 2008. All tenants of properties in the redevelopment area are to vacate their premises by November 30th latest."

Caveat emptor? ...
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To finish on a slightly more cheerful note, this young lady is just a couple of hours old.

Sleepless nights ahead!

Why?? It's a mysterious world ...

A few random ‘why’s??’ from yesterday’s random wanderings around town …

Why...


… does young Graham from Glasgow have to drink a bottle of Sang Som (Thai rum) before noon every day? Oblivious to the traffic, he staggers haphasardly down the middle of Loi Kroh, in search of any bar that will serve him, with the traffic carefully weaving around him without so much as the sound of a single horn.

Attempts by Chris of the Marijuana Bar to reason with him failed, resulting in him collapsing into a chair with a Leo beer and double Mekong 'whisky' chaser.

Having set fire to his shorts with a forgotten cigarette, and doused the smouldering material with Leo, he continues on his way with a rousing rendition of "Roll Britannia"...

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Why... were a dozen monks of varying degrees of seniority from the richer wats around town buying up high-tech gear - from PCs to ipods to hifi systems to top of the range mobile phones - at the Computer Plaza in Chiang Mai yesterday, presumably thanks in great part to donations from those Thais who can least afford it?

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Why... do tourists travel all this way from the other side of the world to go eat at McDonalds and drink themselves silly in bars run by, and filled with, other farangs?

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Why... have the Thais designed a kerb that is a double death-trap… either because it enables errant, drunk or short-sighted drivers to avoid damaging their vehicles should they get a little too close, by gently mounting the pavement (and forcing pedestrians to leap out of the way)… or because it is coated with oil and dirt replenished on a daily basis by the pollution, unbeknown to tourists who unsuspectingly step on the 45 degree slope, and regularly end up on their backsides. Even winter sports experts would have trouble negotiating this hazard.

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Why... did the town place the foundations and sockets for street lighting in dimly-lit thoroughfares some years ago, then leave them for unsuspecting tourists to trip over (because they can’t see where they are going because there’s no street lighting?)

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If you avoid mishap on the sloped kerbs, just down the road these lamp post supports have been waiting for the installation of the lamp posts for years.

They are perfectly placed outside the Spotlight A Go-Go Bar for exiting drunk tourists who have been too stingy to barfine one of the girls, and therefore have no escorts to guide them safely around these hazards.

As the girls would say ... "Som nom NA!" (serves you right!...)

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Why... do some tourists from the other side of the Pond feel the need to endlessly talk and laugh at the tops of their voices in the peaceful, laid-back environment of a small massage establishment, totally oblivious to the presence of other clients attempting to relax?

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Why... does the Thai wife of a farang friend get up at 4 in the morning to pay tribute to the spirit of her recently deceased father by cooking for the monks at the local wat, whereupon the slightly disgruntled farang now has to get his own breakfast, despite arguing that he’s still just about alive, but won’t be much longer if she doesn’t look after him? (Apologies for laughing, Klaus …)

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Why... do so many expats get a kick out of knocking the Thais at every opportunity, regardless of whether there are any Thais within earshot?

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Why... do those same expats think they are being clever and superior when they denigrate so-called ‘Thai logic’?

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It’s a mysterious world, with answers mostly in shades of grey. But perhaps with regard to the issue of ‘Thai logic’, the following images and thoughts can cast at least a glimmer of light on the processes involved….

Western mind at work:

"What a stupid place to put a phone box, a pylon and a signpost – the pavement is clear of obstructions for 100 metres in both directions, yet the Thais manage to stick all three together in such a way that you either have to walk on a busy road to get past (the case for a large number of obese Westerners who simply couldn’t squeeze through the gap), or if you are skinny enough, you still have to duck way down or risk decapitation. Why not move one or two of the offending objects a few metres in either direction? The goal is to place functional objects on a public walkway in an efficient manner that does not hinder the passage of pedestrians. If I want to be fat that’s my choice and society must be flexible enough to accept and adapt to my preferences. I’m tempted to write to the Mayor and demand that she rectify this error forthwith, before anyone gets hurt. If I injure myself I will sue. The problem has been identified, the solutions are obvious. Why don’t the Thais get on and sort it out?"

Eastern mind at work:

"The objects are there, a fait accompli. Why it is so is no longer relevant. Solutions are needed in the here and now, and the mind has to be oriented in this direction. Clearly there were reasons that once accounted for the original choice of location, and knowing this is sufficient. Wondering why they were placed there in the first place is pointless, and also implies indirect criticism of those involved in town planning, which if expressed in a complaint does not contribute to social harmony, and maintaining face. Discourse is indirect – blunt speaking is an alien concept. The public display of the failures of others constitutes a lack of respect for their feelings. Communication centres on the core values of ‘Jai’ (heart and mind). Consideration, self-restraint, tolerance and flexibility are key in dealing with others. Respect, face and harmony are far more important in the general scheme of things, so balance needs to be found in the moment, taking all of these factors into account.

So back to the here and now. There is a gap between the three obstacles. It is sufficiently large for most people to pass through. Only those who do not maintain a correct diet will have difficulty, in which case this will help them to consider if they are leading a healthy lifestyle or not. Should one bang one’s head, through inattention or inebriation or a combination of both, then hopefully the person concerned will have learned the appropriate lesson from this mishap. If I injure myself, then I have been foolish and inattentive. If the pavement is crowded, it is a simple matter to step onto the road around the obstacle, taking appropriate care, for a few metres.

It is the truth and solutions of the moment that are important to the manner in which we lead our lives, rather than the knowing and reasoning why."

Time for a moan ...

On the subject of food safety, and in the light of all the recent concerns over excessively high levels of melamine in products from China, one does wonder what one can safely eat these days. A few cases are publicised... but how many are discretely 'forgotten' by irresponsible manufacturers, traders and politicians?

Just a week ago nearly 4 tons of 'unmarked' powdered milk was discovered in a Bangkok warehouse; ostensibly from Australia, although the entire consignment was unlabelled. Clearly, given the recent melamine scandal, there will be a massive quantity of 'unsaleable' milk powder in China. Will it all be destroyed, or will unscrupulous dealers get their hands on some of it? 4 tons might not sound much... but potentially that's some 4,000 tins of baby milk powder...

After melamine as a protein additive, what next? A professor at Chiang Mai University recently revealed - in confidence of course! - that a common practice in China is for undertakers to remove the hair of the deceased for selling on to food processors, for the purpose of creating a 'protein slurry'. So who knows what we are eating these days!


Perhaps there is something to be said for 'home grown' food, collected in remote areas of the countryside, after all!

From obnoxious foods, to obnoxious farangs ....

What is it about some, mainly Western, tourists? I spent long enough living in France occasionally apologising for the behaviour of the British, but it's even more noticeable in Thailand, made particularly conspicuous by the obvious comparison to the polite and respectful locals. The other night in the Chiang Mai Saloon, a young baseball-shirted American staggers in, so loud you could hear him over the sound of the superb Pulse concert (Floyd) I was trying to listen to up on the big screen, while watching West Ham v. Arsenal in a Premier League match on screen number two (in silent mode). "You Thai?" he yells in the ear of the (obviously Thai) bloke sat at the bar next to where he'd found a stool to collapse onto. Not waiting for an answer, "Don' understan' Thai. Been all over, speak different everywhere", he enlightens us all. Thai guy is lost for words, unsurprisingly. "Like American football?" Yank shouts, after a short lull. Thai guy doesn't reply, so Yank thinks he has to yell a bit louder. "A-MER-I-CAN FOOT-BALL". Thai guy tries to be polite. "Ah, Chelsea very good". Bemused look crosses Yanks face. "FOOT-BALL", he bellows. "A-MER-I-CAN!". Thai looks lost, but politely tries again. "Ah Beck-Ham! Very good, Ga-Lax-EE!" Complete incomprehension on Yank's face. Clearly it hasn't occurred to him that American football isn't the world's number one sport. Not to be put off by such a minor setback, he tries again. "YOU LIKE BASEBALL?" I can't take any more, and go in search of another bar.

Because of the time difference (plus 6 hours) , live games are sometimes on late evening or in the middle of the night here. I find a quiet Thai bar down by the moat near Loi Kroh. Loi Kroh is the 'red light' area of Chiang Mai, such as it is (a few scattered girlie bars, no comparison to Bangkok or Pattaya). Naturally it attracts a sizeable number of mainly male farang visitors. I manage to miss one goal thanks to the five minute transit down the road from the CM Saloon. Still, the virtually empty bar with its TV behind the bar showing the match seems ideal to see out the last few minutes...

In stagger two middle-aged farangs, of indeterminate origin. They are both covered in blood, but seem completely unaware of their condition. The one with the largest beer gut promptly throws up over the top of the bar. For a while neither is capable of speech. In typically caring and uncritical Thai fashion, the proprietress immediately produces tissues, and tries to mop up some of the blood on their faces - they appear oblivious to her administrations - while another girl uncomplainingly begins to clean up the bar counter and floor. Eventually the two bloody farangs recover enough to speak. "Two beers luv". (They're Brits - why am I not surprised). When asked what had happened, they were totally clueless. Didn't know where they had been, where they were staying. A complete, genuine, blank. The alcoholic mist eventually clears enough for the bald Scouser (the one that hadn't been sick yet) to notice there's a game on. He unleashes a couple of obscenities, followed by a "WA-ALK ON ....". In walks another farang, slightly more capable of speech. (Spotting the blood) "Is that your bike on the road outside"? I go to the door - a hundred yards away, a definitively written-off tangled mess of metal was lying abandoned in the middle of the road. It seems that the two Brits had come off their hire scooter with the assistance of an inconveniently placed lamppost (no other vehicle was involved fortunately), and staggered down the road to the nearest bar. They were so far gone they didn't even remember they had a bike in the first place.

The Thais have a word for farang behaviour of this type - roughly translated as 'uncivilised'. Some Westerners seem to think they are visiting a land of illiterate, impoverished, uneducated peasants living in wooden shacks, and can do as they please. In my book, and that of virtually all other expats I've met in Thailand (and France come to that), if civilisation means Big Macs, drunken yobs, mega million dollar city bonuses and financial crises ... you can keep it!

I give up on the match, and head off home. The only other goal was scored no sooner had I walked out of the door ...

Clean Thais, Smelly Foreign 'Farangs' ...

Visitors to Thailand from so-called 'civilisation' will have heeded all the dire warnings about not drinking the tap water, dengue fever and various other scary diseases, nasty tropical parasites, and usually come equipped with enough pharmaceuticals to stock a small chemist's. They will have heard the stories about squalid third- and developing world shanty towns, with rudimentary sanitary systems. Strangely though, it is the Thai who tends to look upon the farang (white foreigner) as, more often than not, unclean!

Of course the average Thai would never be so rude as to say so! But when you have more than a smattering of Thai, their good-natured banter about these strange white giants from afar can be very revealing...

A practice attributed to white foreigners by Thais, known as the 'farang shower', is a case in point. Perspiring, middle-aged, overweight American, Australian and European males are as a result the object of considerable humour. Unfortunately the 'farang shower' - the application of copious quantities of expensive aftershave - is not enough to disguise the fact that many do, in fact, well ... not to put too fine a point upon it ... stink!

Thai women aside - who when they can afford it will happily use perfume - virtually all Thai men seem to smell of absolutely nothing. Clean-shaven and spotless, not matter what their station in life, they somehow manage to maintain a level of personal hygiene that puts Westerners to shame. It boils down to a question of necessity; a tropical climate with invariably high humidity encourages the proliferation of all manner of unfriendly and aggressive microscopic creatures, and if you are foolish enough to not to keep scrupulously clean, you are asking for trouble.

Vendors with cooking pots brimming with unrecognisable and strange, spicy-smelling concoctions line the streets day and night. Many farang tourists tend to give them a wide berth, preferring the more familiar restaurants, and those selling European-style cuisine. Big mistake! The reason these street-sellers are so numerous is because the Thais buy from them much of the time. They are busy day and night. Their turnover is rapid, their cleanliness impeccable; no sooner are the ingredients bought, than the dish is being cooked and sold.

'Isaan' sausages and spicy veg on sale 10 baht (15 pence) per large sausage ... or if you're really hard up, something less than 2p each for the little round ones on the grill ...

Whereas in some Westernised restaurants, you are far more likely to end up with a case of severe food poisoning. Attempting to sell an expensive range of dishes they can't begin to dispose of within a reasonably short period of time to their rather infrequent patrons, the climate ensures that those microscopic creatures soon get to work. As this blogger discovered to his cost yet again in an English pub/restaurant last night (will he never learn his lesson?) The garlicky sauce disguised both the smell and the peculiar colour of the flesh, but one bite of the fish fillet was enough. To say it had 'gone off' just doesn't do its level of putrefaction justice. It had decayed, rotted, decomposed, and was weeks overdue for burial. Or preferably cremation, to avoid poisoning the water table. I won't point the finger, despite the English boss eventually managing a reluctant "Oh well, it happens you know. Have a steak and kidney pie, it's on the house". Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stick to Thai cuisine in future.

A no doubt considerably safer (and cheaper) roadside alternative to the pub grub on offer last night!

But back to cleanliness - or the lack of. Feet being one important source of the problem, according to inside info from a selection of Thai friends ...

Maybe it is something to do with our height - or possibly the inability of many Westerners to see these extremities, the view of which tends to be obstructed by large fleshy beer- or hamburger-induced pot-shaped bellies. Perhaps it is due to our often complete lack of fitness and flexibility, as a result of which they are simply unreachable. Or in our vain ignorance, maybe we believe that by pointing the shower in that general direction for a quick blast - despite the fact that the soon-to-be ingrowing toenails are a haven for a rapidly breeding number of micro-organisms perfectly sheltered from this feeble assault by water and, rarely, soap - we are achieving a satisfactory level of cleanliness. (The Thais, by way of contrast, tend to trim their nails every other day). Another problem is however that Western feet are usually so far away that we can't actually smell them ourselves. Or maybe we've just got so accustomed to the odour that we just don't notice it any more. And it doesn't help that tourists, new to the tropical climate, often insist on wearing both shoes and socks. Because of this, the most thorough of scrubbings is undone within the hour, as our appendages immediately begin to perspire profusely, and the bugs promptly and joyfully return.

So I am given to believe - from the street masseuses providing a 30 minutes foot and leg massage for a euro, and who are as a result perfectly positioned to be a entirely credible authority on the subject - that the feet of 9 out of 10 European and American men, smell pretty rank. (Women, you can relax a little, only 5 out of 10 pairs of your feet stink to the same degree). So please - on your next visit to SE Asia, especially if you are lovers of massage - have a little consideration for those poor girls having to suffer in silence inches away from the locomotive appendages.

But now I have to move onto a more sensitive subject, still related to cleanliness (or the lack of). When you visit Thailand for the first time, you may be surprised to find something that resembles a shower hose, complete with high pressure nozzle, attached to the wall of the bathroom, next to the toilet. You would be excused for wondering what purpose this could possibly serve.

The little lever or button is indeed for releasing a powerful jet of water, so should you be tempted to experiment as you meditate from a sitting down position, make sure to point the device at a distant wall (nearby targets tend to have a ricochet effect, and are likely to result in you emerging from your contemplations looking as if you forgot to get undressed before taking a shower). And it goes without saying that you shouldn't squeeze the lever while looking directly into the nozzle. The main purpose of this device is to avoid having to apply reams of toilet paper to the posterior, with potentially rather smelly, all-too-common consequences amongst Westerners. Used with skill - posterior showering sitting down takes some mastery, and to avoid embarrassment it is best practised within the safety of your hotel bathroom until you get the hang of it - it is a vast improvement on the toilet paper alternative. For obvious reasons it results in the sort of rear end cleanliness only rivalled by the French with their bidets.

A few tips for the uninitiated.

- In unfamiliar surroundings it may be worth first testing the water pressure with a quick single downwards burst into the toilet bowel. However, excessively powerful jets can have undesirable effects, so do so before spending a penny.

- Ensure you have the nozzle pointing in the right direction. Somewhere between an inch and a couple of inches is the correct firing range.

- Bear in mind that Thai plumbing often involves the routing of the cold water pipe through outside areas exposed to direct sunlight. During daylight hours therefore, be prepared to rapidly abort the operation, should the water temperature suddenly begins to climb. A maximum cold water temperature of boiling point is possible in these tropical climes.

- For the sake of those who may visit the bathroom after your departure, do try to avoid skin contact between nozzle and rear passage.

- Ok, here goes, fire.

- Please bear in mind that this is not the Thai version of an enema wash. Consequently a short burst of between five and ten seconds is usually ample, irrespective of any pleasure you might be experiencing.

- Ladies of course have the excuse to use this device rather more frequently than men. Whether your sex lives are wanting or not, and irrespective of whether the sensations involved are somewhat more exciting than those produced by earlier activities of an intimate nature with your partner, please bear in mind that a growing queue of desperate people may be waiting outside.

- Finally, the the disposal basket marked with words to the effect of "please place your used toilet paper in here and not in the bowel" is for the benefit of those who have used this implement to good effect, and not for those squeamish Anglo-Saxons who prefer the old-fashioned, if smelly way of cleaning the posterior.

Once you've got into the habit of using this device, you'll never want to go back to your old ways, believe me. You'll be looking around the local plumbing supply outlets for one to take home with you ... Have fun!