MARRING A THAI
excerpts from Naked Farang: Four Weddings and a Coup
Getting married to a Thai is easy, and here's how! Just follow this simple 3-step guide.
First, go to the Consular Section of your embassy in Bangkok. There, you will need to have your passport and an affirmation of freedom to marry letter, which they will endorse to prove that either you are still single or any previous marriages have been terminated. If you have been married before, you will also need to supply a divorce or death certificate, depending on how you escaped the first time. To make things easier, the British Embassy website has an example of the letter for you to copy and a list of all the paperwork you need. It costs 2,625 baht (in 2006) to get your freedom to marry verified at the British Embassy, and it is quick and painless.
After getting your letter endorsed by the embassy, you need to get it translated into Thai. There are several translation agencies within a 5-minute walk of the British, American and other Embassies on Witthayu Road, and it costs about 400 baht. Once you've got that, the second step is to go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs way out on Chaeng Wattana Road in Laksi district and there have the translation verified. That will take a few hours (if you pay 800 baht for the "express" service.) Again, it’s pretty efficient and relatively painless.
I followed these steps when I officially married Pim so that we were legally married before Tommy was born. So far, it had been easy and we were getting complacent. We now had to take our endorsed letters to the registrar’s office and have the marriage certificate issued. We wandered into the Bangna Registrar’s Office in Bangkok at about 11am and were already hungry, but we figured we'd be out by lunchtime.
Pim was 7 months pregnant and it was very crowded with only about 4 chairs in the whole place, but it shouldn't take long, surely. We had all the right paperwork after all. Everything had gone smoothly so far, and we assumed that the final part would be a 1 hour formality. WRONG.
We spent half a day in there, finally stumbling out at 4pm. It was pure chaos. The small, run-down old office was crammed with happy couples getting married, proud parents registering births, the bereaved registering deaths, the liberated registering divorces and the identifiable getting their ID cards. No-one seemed to know what they were doing and this included the staff.
Upon entering, you are supposed to take a number and wait, but there are 3 different coloured sets of laminated numbers on spikes on a table. Nobody knows which numbers are for which counters and everyone who wanders in grabs one or more off each spike. Some might later work out which coloured numbers they need and replace the ones they don't. This means that the numbers on the spikes are all out of sync, but it doesn't matter because nobody calls out numbers or displays them on an electronic board to let you know when it's your turn anyway. The numbers are like those traffic lights that have countdown clocks. They are supposed to keep you calm but they just add to the frustration because the system doesn't work.
When a seat finally becomes vacant at the desk, you have to be ready to push in front of other love struck couples who still look fresh and obviously haven't been there as long as you. This is not very often. Thai bureaucracy is at it's finest here as pen pushers push pens and then wander with your paperwork over to other pen pushers at other desks to push their pens over your papers once they have cleared enough space on their paper-strewn desks to place your precious documents somewhere in the middle of this mess. They will shuffle papers and look as if they have lost something or they can't remember what they were looking for. After a while, they may sign the papers and then key some information into their computers. The papers are then ready to be carried over to another pen pusher at another desk and the process is repeated again and again and again and........
They have computers for Christ's sake! Why aren’t they connected to a central network? Why are they so disorganised? I have a lot of experience of office management and I can't help feeling that I could overhaul the whole system within a week and have it running efficiently.
There are basically two problems here. The first is that the staff are worried that they will be replaced by computers, and the second is the Thai business “culture”, whereby people just do as they are told in their jobs without ever offering up ideas for streamlining or making a system more efficient. It is not the “thing to do” to challenge a senior member of staff no matter how incompetent they are. There are only three criteria for getting promoted in a Thai company: knowing or being related to a senior member of staff, working in the same office for a very long time without upsetting anyone, or being old. The word “subordinate” is overused in Thailand, both practically and conceptually. It is common for “subordinates” (I hate that word) to sit quietly through an entire meeting in submissive acceptance of whatever their “superiors” say. They may disagree with a dictated new policy or order, but they will not challenge it, implementing it begrudgingly, which can only be bad for morale and efficiency.
This seniority system was clearly in effect here as in the middle of this chaos, sitting at a large desk, was a “senior” female member of staff, who spent the entire time we were there transfixed to the latest soap operas on a TV set she had set up next to her, joyfully oblivious to the mayhem and misery around her.
The staff all looked like they hated their jobs and I bet secretly they have great ideas for upgrading the system, but they never let on because they are afraid either to confront their superiors or to be replaced by a computer.
A Thai friend is Head of IT at a large international bank in Bangkok, and when I told him about the hassle we had gone through and my theories about why such inefficient bureaucracy prevailed, he echoed my sentiments about the staff’s fear of becoming obsolete and the idiosyncrasies of the Thai business culture, but he also added a couple more insights of his own. He suggested that it was a power trip for otherwise useless individuals to have a subordinate walk over to them with their heads bowed, asking them to sign some papers. He also pointed out that you can’t pass money through a computer screen, so opportunities for petty corruption would be limited.
By the time we finally got married, we could have been auditioning for Bride of Frankenstein. We were like two zombies. The Registrar was all smiles and pleasantries, but we weren’t having any of it. JUST GET US MARRIED SO THAT WE CAN GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND GO AND GET SOMETHING TO EAT. It was a lovely day.
I think Pim and I had already gotten married before this, but I’m not sure. A couple of months earlier, we had taken our usual New Year trip to Surin. For a couple of months before that, Pim had kept saying about how we were going to do something in Surin, but I couldn’t quite make out what she was explaining. She kept going on about it, but I couldn’t understand, so I just asked her if it was a good or bad thing. “Oh, it’s very good,” she had said, so I just left it at that. She had also said that I would have to give her parents 10,000 baht, but that I would get it back later. Fine, if they want to borrow some money, I’m happy to help out.
When New Year came around, there had been the usual parties for Pim’s dad’s birthday and New Year itself with nothing out of the ordinary, except that Pim was drinking less and eating more due to her pregnancy.
The first sign I got that Pim was up to something came on January 3rd when everyone at the family home was herded into a pick-up truck before being driven miles out into the countryside to visit a remote and simple Buddhist temple.
We all entered a large hall where we sat on the floor in a position that looked as if we had been kneeling but someone had then pushed us from the side. We made sure that our feet were pointing away from a slightly raised platform in front of us. Thai culture dictates that the head is the highest part of the body, both physically and spiritually. For this reason, you should never touch a Thai on the head. Likewise, the feet are the lowest, so you should never sit with the soles aimed at anyone or anything of importance. It’s also taboo to step over people, food or literary works.
After a few minutes, an elderly monk with shaved head and orange robes entered. He sat cross-legged on the platform and a tray with some incense, flowers and a few other objects was placed in front of him. He recited a few chants and a few of our flock went to the platform and prostrated themselves in front of him. After a while, the pregnant Pim whispered that her back was aching and she motioned for us to leave. We quietly went outside and left the monk and the other family members to their merit-making.
I thought this was the end of our temple visit, but once everyone came out of the hall, we all made our way across the courtyard to a smaller wooden temple raised a metre or so off the ground on stilts. We climbed the steps and once again assumed the position. This time, however, Pim and I were ushered to the front and middle of the congregation.
A different monk recited different chants and lit candles and incense. Following prompts, I joined everyone else in putting my hands together in the prayer position and bowing my head. The monk dipped a brush-like implement made of very fine bamboo strips into water and proceeded to splash us repeatedly, presumably to cleanse our souls. Next, we each had a thin white cotton strip tied around our wrists while more incense was lit and prayers were chanted. After about 15 minutes of this, we filtered outside again into the eye-squinting sunlight.
Pim and a couple of her relatives stayed behind a little longer. When she emerged, I asked her why that was. She told me it was a sanctioning and good luck ceremony, and she wanted blessings for our relationship and for our unborn child. I assumed that this was what she had been telling me about a couple of months earlier, but the fat lady wasn’t singing yet.
That evening after dinner, I joined Nid and Chum on the terrace, sitting around a fire in a small clay oven and drinking a few beers to ward off the chilly night air. The conversations were pretty limited:
Nid: “Nao mai kha?” (Are you cold?)
Me: “Nao” (Yes, I’m cold)
Chum: “Nao maak!” (Yes, it certainly is rather chilly weather we are experiencing and no mistake)
Once enough beer had been consumed to fend off the chills, we retired to bed.
The next morning, I was awakened by a smiling Pim, who was up and about before me. I was feeling a little rough around the edges from the previous evening’s beer and ready for a day of doing not much in particular. Pim had other ideas.
“I need the 10,000 baht now. Everyone’s ready.”
Still half asleep, I reached into my jeans and pulled out my wallet. I handed over the 10,000 baht and attempted to go back to sleep, but Pim wasn’t giving up.
“Come on. It’s going to start.”
Everyone’s ready? It’s going to start? What was she talking about? I got dressed and together we wandered into the living room, where I was suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of realisation that something was indeed about to happen. It might have been the severed pig’s head on a tray, or the masses of people milling about outside. I don’t recall now exactly what triggered my brain into functioning, but I do remember turning to Pim and saying, “We’re going to get married, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Yes,” she beamed enthusiastically.
“Alright then.”
All the furniture in the living room had been pushed back against the walls. The centre piece was a woven mat, upon which there was a tray with the pig’s head, an incense stick poking out from its nose and a few other unidentified pig parts placed decoratively around it. A second tray held two small bowls of rice with a lit candle in each one, other small bowls containing fruit or meat with incense sticks, and an ornamental chalice with what I guess was water in it. Standing separately on the mat, there were two larger chalices, one of which contained the money and unlit candles, and the other had a white cloth folded over it with more candles and incense laid on top. A bottle each of water, lao kao and orange Fanta completed the ceremonial requirements.
The smiling congregation began to filter in and take their seats on the floor. I smiled back, nodded and waied everyone and then Pim and I took up our lopsided kneeling position together in front of the mat, with her parents to our left and the officiator to our right. The pig stayed where it was.
The service wasn’t presided over by a monk, but rather a local dignitary, someone akin to a village headman. It was later explained that this was a Khmer rather than a Thai Buddhist ceremony, hence some differences in personnel, paraphernalia and procedure. I’m still not even sure if it was actually a wedding or a ceremony seeking approval and acceptance from the parents. Different people have given me different explanations and something always gets lost in translation.
As the ceremony began, Pim and I were each given one of the large chalices. I got the one with the cloth on top, and Pim got the one with the money. We held these up as if making an offering while the officiator recited his lines. After a while, the chalices were taken off us and placed on either side of the pig’s head. The officiator continued his monologue whilst pouring out measures from the various bottles. I didn’t have a clue what was being said, so I just kept alert to prompts. The next one indicated that Pim and I were to place our hands on top of each other palms down on the mat. As he kept talking, the officiator tied more cotton strips around our wrists. He motioned for us to turn our hands palms up and he completed the task. His work for the day seemed to be done, but the rest of the congregation now shuffled forwards to tie more cotton around our wrists while they recited some good luck mantras. Tied up in the cotton strips were 20 and 100 baht notes. Once everyone had made their donation, the ritual was over and the party began.
We spent the rest of the day eating, drinking and dancing. I don’t know what happened to the pig’s head. I had been worried that I would be expected to eat some of it as part of my rite of passage into the family, but I was mercifully spared that ordeal. I do know what happened to the lao kao, though. Pim’s dad and the officiator saw that off.
Ten months later, we were all back for another wedding. This time Pim’s older sister, Taem, was marrying Dave, another farang from Derby in central England. Unlike my wedding, Dave knew it was coming, and he and Taem had gone to great lengths to plan the whole day. Friends and family had flown over from Europe, and we were all staying in a large hotel across town from the family home. A bus had been hired first to bring everyone from Bangkok, and then to shuttle us all around.
When the day of reckoning dawned, Dave was visibly nervous and he turned to me for advice, but what could I tell him? My and Pim’s informal ceremony was going to be no pointer for the grand day ahead. I had actually done some homework and was able to explain some of the rituals that would be observed in their more traditional Thai-style wedding, but I certainly wasn’t speaking from experience.
As the bridegroom’s contingent rode in the bus from the hotel to the house, I explained that we would be dropped off at the end of the lane, from where we would walk the last 50 metres or so to the house. Before Dave would be allowed to enter the house, he would have to pass through three ceremonial gates. At each of these gates, he would have to hand over envelopes with money inside in order to be let past. I had been told that this also used to involve being asked a riddle or a specific question about the bride’s favourite flower or other personal information in order to prove the bridegroom’s worthiness, but these days money alone was sufficient, apparently.
Dave wanted to know how much money to put in each envelope, but I had heard different amounts, depending on whom I had asked. “I don’t know,” I told him, “but there should be a higher amount at each successive gate.” My advice wasn’t much help, but I was flying blind here, and Dave was getting increasingly nervous.
Fortunately, when we pulled up at the end of the lane, we were met by people who actually knew what was going to happen. Following their advice, Dave placed the appropriate amounts in each envelope and then promptly forgot which envelope contained which amount, causing him to open them all again to check. He tried putting the envelopes in different pockets but ran out of pockets, so he asked some of his family to hold envelopes for him. He was starting to get into a panic, and I was just thankful that I had not had to go through this. I’ve never had a surprise party, but there’s something to be said for surprise weddings.
Before we set off on our short parade, I was given an umbrella and assigned my official role as brolly dolly. It was my solemn duty to walk beside Dave with the umbrella shielding him from the sun’s rays.
As our procession approached the house, we came upon the first gate. The “gate” was actually a golden chain held across the entrance to the terrace by some distant relatives of Taem’s. Envelopes changed hands as gracefully as a businessman buying a politician and we moved on to the second gate. The second barrier was manned by closer relatives and required a larger toll, but Dave’s confidence was growing now and he negotiated it with aplomb. He was starting to relax and loosen up, but Nid and Chum were waiting to bring him back down to earth at the third and final gate. Chum seemed happy enough to accept his envelope and get back to his beer, but Nid made a big show of opening her envelope, looking inside, shaking her head and frowning as if to say, “You’re not marrying my sister if that’s the best you can do. None shall pass!” Dave didn’t seem to know what to do, and was temporarily rocked back on his heels. He needed counsel. Don’t look at me, mate. You’re on your own. He was ready to hand over more money until Nid relented and gave that “gotcha!” smile, before lowering the chain to let the confused but very relieved Dave into the house. Stitched up by a Thai girl! Wedding nerves or not, I’m never letting him forget that.
Inside the living room there was no pig’s head or lao kao this time, but there were several bowls of fruit, desserts, rice and fish all with little flags, incense or candles stuck in them. Bottles of water, coca-cola and, this time, red Fanta stood sentinel over the spread. The two chalices, one containing the money and candles and the other covered with a folded white cloth, were again on display, just as they had been at my and Pim’s ceremony. At the head of the temporary altar stood a large floral arrangement, and at the centre, there was a decorative box containing two symbolic amulets.
Relatives of both bride and groom crammed into the room, Dave and Taem took up their positions, and we were ready for the service to begin. The ceremony was again conducted by an officiator rather than a monk. He wore a traditional costume of a tartan-like sarong and white shirt with more tartan cloth worn like a sash over his shoulder.
Sitting cross-legged to the right of the altar, he got the ceremony underway by going through his lines and making some gestures. After maybe 10 minutes, the food was taken away and Taem’s parents moved in. It had all been pretty boring up until now, but the fun part was about to begin. First, a length of rope, tied into a noose at each end, was placed with the loops around Dave and Taem’s heads to symbolise their unification. They waied dutifully as the officiator took a stick, dipped it into a white sticky substance, and placed three dots on Dave and Taem’s foreheads. As they leant forward to receive the amulets, bowls containing yellow flower petals were passed around the congregation and we threw handfuls at the happy couple. They were obviously in need of some spiritual cleansing, and the officiator duly obliged by splashing them with his very own bamboo strip brush. Around this time, his monologue changed from dull ramblings to something akin to an all-night rave MC on crack. I think he enjoyed this part; either that or he was trying to finish up quickly to get to another engagement. With his energy spent and his task completed, it was time for us laypeople to tie cotton strips with money around the newlyweds’ wrists. Thus ended the ceremony.
The day was concluded back at the hotel with a formal evening reception, the highlight of which was one of Taem’s relatives, who is a local politician and who had clearly partaken liberally of the alcoholic beverages on offer. As a procession of friends and relatives took to the stage to bestow their best wishes on the happy couple, the extremely happy politician took his turn, hogging the limelight and singing in a manner befitting a Sunday afternoon pub crooner from Darlington. Some things are the same the world over it seems, and it was appropriate that the day of Anglo-Thai harmony and unification should end with an act that transcended cultural borders.
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