Western-Thai Dating: A Driver’s Guide

One of the most consistently entertaining aspects of the courting ritual indulged in by ageing Western men and much younger South-East Asian women is the inaugural motorbike outing.

Now, as any fule who has spent time in South-East Asia kno, these ladies can handle a bike. Dirt roads in the monsoon? No problemo. Hairpins? They shit ’em. Big city traffic, eight vehicles across three “lanes”? Easy as…

So quite how they feel riding pillion — and sidesaddle, at that — to some absolute muppet, one can only imagine.

This evening, sir and I were returning from a delightful day of temples and monk chats in Chiang Mai, when I got us lost (right alley number, wrong road, DOH!). I am bending over, rummaging in my bag for the map, when I hear this little, panicked voice from behind me, “Mum, MUM! Quick, get out of the way.”

Sure, it’s a narrowish alleyway. Sure, it’s a motorbike. Whatever, I think. Move further into the side, and carry on walking.

Sir, meanwhile, is pinned against the wall, his expression a curious mix of caution and what, in someone over nine, one would be inclined to regard as contempt.

Then I suddenly see what he has seen.

For, straddle-walking a motorbike rather nervously around the corner, with hot Asian ladyfriend on the back, and rather too much unexpected acceleration for comfort, is the absolute embodiment of the ageing Western male. Think Jeremy Clarkson with flipflops in place of loafers and you really wouldn’t be far off.

We stand in silence watching the odd couple’s inching, lurching progress round what is not an especially tight corner and down what is really not a particularly narrow alleyway, populated by no one and nothing, except us.

Even the dogs, it appears, have fled.

Christ! I think. I could really use some adult company to give this gentleman the post-match analysis he merits.

The first time I encountered fine specimens of Western manhood with their Asian girlfriends on the back one was whizzing straight into the back of me on a quiet downhill on Cat Ba island, Vietnam, bipping vigorously that I pull onto the verge and out of his way.

Interestingly, these guys’ girlfriends — and god knows how they did it, while keeping up the submissive, ladylike role required in such interactions — subsequently somehow persuaded their beer-sodden beaux that they should drive them.

Then did so.

Very, very slowly.

Because heaven forfend they should drive better than the guys.

Anywise. Back to Chiang Mai. Up pipes my offspring. “Mum!” he says. “Did you SEE that guy? What a total NOOB! His girlfriend must be really laughing at him when he drives like that.”

“Yep,” I say. “You would really think that guys like that would at least take a scooter out for a spin before taking their new girlfriends out on one.”

“But did you SEE him?!” he says. “He was hilarious! It can’t have been good for his ego. Not at ALL.”

We walk on, for a while. Our discussion gradually degenerates into him singing “Noobie, noobie noob, you’re a noob,” to the tune (obviously) of Scoobie Doo.

“Yeah,” I say. “But how’s my driving, sweetheart?”

“Oh,” he says. “You’re pretty good now.”

He pauses for thought. “Well, you’re alright.”