An American in Asia: His Quest for Cosmic Truth (or at least a Decent Espresso)

 

Last time I wrote at length about the disappointment over my never-completed house in Phuket, while only briefly mentioning my success in building a house last year in upcountry Thailand. Today I'll go into more detail on the house that got finished.

It's on stilts so the ice weasels can't get ya.

As mentioned in my last installment, I have bailed out on a deal to buy a house from a developer in Phuket, called Neramit. The good news is I'm getting my money back. In fact, due to the quirks of international finance, I'm getting back a bit more. Last year I laid down US$10,000 or so, but the Thai Baht amount that is coming back to me is worth an extra grand this year.

I'll consider it a small compensation for the eight months I dedicated to making the purchase and overseeing the construction. More precisely, overseeing the lack of oversight by the real overseer. Too many heads between me and the hands building my house.

When I finally got the whole story, it turned out that Neramit had mismanaged their funds and now, with the nation in something of a property slump due to the tangled state of politics, the well ran dry and the contractors bolted.

Now, while some might greet the situation with understanding and cut Neramit some slack, I won't, and here's why: I myself was a developer of a house of similar size and it only took me eight months and $15,000. It wasn't easy, and this is why I thought I'd entrust my new place to a professional developer. I was paying Neramit to overcome the difficulties of a foreigner building in Thailand, and in this they failed. Too bad for them.

"I'm gonna move up to the country

Gonna paint my mailbox blue."

- Taj Mahal

So how did I manage the miracle of a big house in the country for the price of an economy car? I started by building on land that was already part mine. Rather, it was a plot on my wife's family farm, on a hillside overlooking a small valley of rice paddies, at the end of the last dirt road in the deepest heart of Thailand's poorest region, Isaan.

Neighbors over for a visit.

One weekend last year my wife and I wandered up to the family homestead, eight hours from Bangkok. At the time, said homestead was a teakwood shack on stilts with a corrugated tin roof. It featured cold, and colder, not-running rainwater collected off the roof and held in giant clay cisterns, and an outhouse right out of a Warner Bros. cartoon. It was camping, for sure, but it matched the décor of the rest of the village and had a great warmth, courtesy of my lovely in-laws.

Soon after we were settled in that evening, three men materialized and sat cross-legged on a woven mat in the communal area. They were dark and sinewy; men in their mid twenties forced prematurely into their late thirties by the merciless Isaan sun. I guessed that these were the contractor cousins the family had recruited to build our house. Beer was distributed and, after a quarter-hour of pleasantries during which I nodded and smiled and understood nothing, the negotiations began.

I laid out a picture of a house and a floor-plan I'd copied from a book. It was just a few photocopies but these were guys who built houses right out of their heads. We looked at it and readjusted the measurements a bit, knocked out a wall here, added one there. Strangely, language wasn't a barrier in laying out our plans. I knew how to say Thai numbers, and our impromptu hieroglyphics took care of the rest. By the time everyone had an idea of what we were going to build, I had an very good idea of who among them was the foreman. He seemed to command the opinions of the others, and he was also the only guy with a pencil.

I asked him how long he thought it might take to build the place. He thought it over for a country minute and said, "Six months." I asked how much it might cost for materials. That took a few more minutes. He came up with a figure around $8,000. That was pretty cool with me, though I made a mental note that it might likely double before the project was finished.

Some of the builders.

Then I looked him in the eye for a while. Just before he looked down, I asked him how much they expected to be paid for the job. No matter where you are, the language of negotiations is the same: sidelong looks and silences that are meant to be uncomfortable. In Thailand, negotiations always seem to happen between groups, and this made things easier for me. If I'm bargaining with only one guy, I can never tell what he's thinking because lying while smiling innocently is a national art form.

We bartered prices for a while, both sides a bit shy to be dealing with alien cultures. Finally, I hit a number that brought about one of those uncomfortable silences. I watched them as they stared fixedly at the floor between us. Then, the youngest of the three looked up from his beer to see what the leader was going to say. With that glance I knew I'd hit a number they could deal with.

We agreed that $3,500 would cover all labor, to be paid upon completion. When the deal was sealed, I pulled a box from my truck and gave it to the foreman. In it was a level. It was both a present and a message as to how I wanted things done. Then another round of beers came out of the fridge.

About this time a big, wiry young guy climbed up the ladder and sat down with us. He was toting an weird vibe with him and I noticed a suppressed wince from my new foreman. I'd come to understand you don't just tell people to bugger off in Thailand because they sometimes go nuts and kill you for it. Anyway the guy was friendly and effusive and seemed to include himself in the foreman's team. However, I knew for some reason the others didn't trust him. I also knew that, as the new boss, it was up to me to get rid of him. So, when he offered to fill my empty glass, I was suddenly not thirsty. The message got across and he left after a few minutes. We never saw him around the site.

Little sis' playing on the framework.

Over the eight months of construction we made frequent trips upcountry to the site. I bought all materials personally, with the foreman on hand to advise and the rest of the family there to assure a good price. I went with the builders and bought cement, rocks and sand for the foundation, pillars and other structural basics, and wood for the walls.

I watched the builders check over the materials and I was impressed. They worked hard to get a good price and they never let the suppliers choose the pieces. They always went in themselves and selected each piece by hand.

I went with them everywhere and put in my two cents' worth when I thought a plank was a bit warped or too green. I mostly didn't know what I was talking about, but that was not important so much as being perceived to be concerned about the details and quality of construction.

My wife tells it like it is.

There was only one financial hiccup during the entire project. But by this time my wife had picked up some assertive, very un-Thai negotiating skills from me, and I got to relax and observe as she dealt with a minor rebellion. They were demanding extra pay to lay the tiles. I was so proud to watch her sternly telling these big guys they would not get one baht more and they were welcome to quit right then and receive only half of their original pay. That was the last murmur we heard over money.

Now, with the place complete, the family is pretty happy and father-in-law is beaming with pride. Her family has been one of the poorest in the village since the police killed her elephant when she was a young girl. I had only planned to put a decent roof over their heads but, without intending it, it seems they now have the nicest house in the village and they are gaining a lot of respect for it. It was a good use for my American dollars, for good people who have had extremely challenging lives.

Now that things are settled with our Phuket housing travesty, we're going to make a trip upcountry to enjoy our home-made homestead.