Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, burst into the hotel room before I barely got the door opened. He was in a panic. Seriously upset. His wa had flown east. Dropping to his knees, he threw his arms around my waist. Burying his face in my stomach he wailed in Thai, English and possibly several other languages, telling his tale of woe. And not making a bit of sense. Didn’t matter. I’d never seen him so upset. I cooed soothing words at the top of his head while trying to make some sense out his story. Whatever had him so disturbed needed to be handled. Whatever caused him so much grief needed to be set right.

I’d only been out of town for a few days, having taken a quick trip down to KL. When I left, there was nothing on the horizon that would result in such trauma. Or drama. But obviously something had happened. And it had been bad. Once he calmed down enough to explain I got the full story. He’d had a brush with death two days before. He’d been in a motorcycle accident. It wasn’t a bloody crash. No one died. His bike was still operable. The only visible sign of injury was a minor wound along one of his arms. Internally, he had a few slightly bruised ribs. And had a set of x-rays to prove it.

Before he managed to get to the accident part of the tale, he pulled his x-rays out to show me. Because I’m an expert at reading x-rays. That wasn’t the best start to explaining his problem. Not knowing what I was looking at, what the x-rays showed, I assumed the worst. A brain tumor, lung cancer, any one of numerous fatal diseases began playing through my mind. When he finally got to the motorcycle accident part of his story I considered bitch slapping hard enough to require a hospital stay. I realized the event was traumatic to him, but my unnecessary worry was as grievous. I should have remembered he’s quite expressive before I started jumping to conclusions.

I made the right amount of sympathetic noises and showed an adequate amount of interest in his x-rays to calm him down. And then he quickly became his normal happy go lucky self. Though over the next few days at odd times he’d pull his x-rays out to admire yet again. His brush with death had scared him. But the x-rays made up for the accident much like a lollipop does handed out by a nurse after a child goes through the trauma of getting an inoculation at the doctor’s office.

He also had a small plastic bag filled with pills of various colors and sizes. If the x-rays were a lollipop, the new stash of pills was Belgium chocolate. He lined them up by color, and then rearranged them by size. I’m sure I’ve mentioned his arrangement/OCD thingy before. (I probably should suggest to him they have a pill for that.) When he was satisfied with the line-up, he dug out his normal daily pill regime and rearranged the whole conglomeration again. I’m not sure what all of the pills he takes daily are, but am sure none of them are Prozac. Just having such an abundance of medicine is enough to keep him happy, mellow, and content.

Back home, over the counter medicines tend to be a one pill fixes all type of cure. If you have the flu, for example, you can pick up a concoction that promises to cure the specific symptoms you are experiencing. Runny nose, cough, high temperature and body aches? No problemo. Only three of those four? Got ya covered there too. Not so in Thailand. Tradition dictates a single pill for each symptom. I think the Thais feel gypped if they are given one pill to handle multiple symptoms. They do not believe one dose can fix numerous problems. A bag full of different pills is always preferable to a single one.

I think Grace Slick must have spent some time in Thailand. From the lyrics to White Rabbit alone she should have obtained goddess stature in Thailand equal to that Angelina Jolie holds in Cambodia. Nightly, sex tourists pay homage to the line that one pill makes you larger. But Grace also totally got the single pill/single symptom ideology that is a national obsession in Thailand. The Thai version of the lyrics to White Rabbit translates to: If one pill makes you happy, a few dozen have got to make you ecstatic. That any one of them may happen to cure whatever ails you is just a bonus. If not, well, maybe you just need some more pills. Besides, if the illness is serious, any Thai knows your best bet is to go see the local mor phi.

When I first started visiting the Kingdom, there was often a glass bowl filled with small packs of Tylenol 3 by the cash register at 7/11s. The kind of display usually used for penny candy, an afterthought, an add-on purchase. I’d always grab a handful to take home; you never know when a bit of aspirin loaded with codein may come in handy. Or could be fun.

In those days, you could stop in at almost any pharmacy and pick up a supply of valium, too. Buying drugs in Thailand for recreational use conjured up the proverbial kid in a candy store. Not so much anymore. Now the pharmacies have switched their stock over to Viagra. There are still places where you can surreptitiously purchase the other blue pill, but the interest has dwindled and sales are more brisk for what will get you hard instead of what will mellow you out.

I read somewhere on the ‘net that the only legal dispensary for prescription medicine in Thailand is at a hospital’s pharmacy. Automatically, you’d think that’s bull; there are almost as many pharmacies in Bangkok as there are 7/11s. But then, we are talking about Thailand; that would make perfect sense following Thai logic. Especially since there is money to be made.

Illegal substances, of course, are readily available on Bangkok’s streets. Thai prisons are also readily available. A stay in a Thai jail almost guarantees you’ll have a great need for prescription medicines. Kinda ironic when you think about it. But then if you thought about it, you wouldn’t end up in a Thai prison in the first place.

Up north, beyond Chiang Mai, is Thailand’s portion of the Golden Triangle, the mystical, magical home to the world’s major source of opium. Opium smoking in the hill-tribe villages in north Thailand is quite common. It is legal for the villagers to possess and use opium, but it is illegal for them to sell it. Visitors to the villages are asked not to indulge in opium-smoking as it encourages the people in the village to use opium. Or so the guide books warn. I suspect the hill-tribe villagers turn to opium for no other reason than having had to spend the day dealing with touri.

Second in stupidity to buying illegal narcotics in Thailand are the foolish touri who pick up Viagra and its many competitors on Bangkok’s streets. The vendors who sell drugs to sex touri know who they are dealing with and offer their wares at high prices. Maybe the idea is the more you pay the harder you’ll get.

Of course, what you are buying is not really Viagra. But they do a great job affixing important looking seals to the package to help qualm any doubts. That you could turn around and step into a real pharmacy to make a purchase of the real drug just goes to show you that the old adage a sucker is born every minute is the overarching motto to Thai street vendors. Now that you can get hard, maybe you’d like a genuine Rolex for 2,000 baht?

My sole concession to medicinal needs when travelling is a rather old bottle of Advil that has a permanent home in my suitcase. Probably should update that, it’s at least ten years old and has never been opened. I know from reading the message boards that many of my contemporaries travel with a huge medicine cabinet. I’ve seen posts listing the numerus daily medicines a poster takes, complete with a cost comparison between what it runs back in the States and what those prescriptions cost in Thailand.

Drugs, even the legal ones, are much cheaper in Thailand. That’s cool. And I’m sure those posts are informative for some. My response though is to wonder why there was not some point in your earlier life that you didn’t realize a major life-style change was in order to prevent spending your middle and later years immersed in your daily medicinal needs. You’d think the thousands of dollars required to support those regimes alone would be enough to suggest adopting a healthier life-style. And then maybe they’d not need that blue pill either. 

Not that I never fall ill when travelling. I have. Twice. Once in London on an extended three month trip during the winter. I came down with a cold. When I woke up with all the nasty symptoms of a cold I headed to the corner pharmacy for some Nyquil, my go-to medicinal concoction for a cold. They didn’t have it and when I asked, the pharmacist laughed. You get that reaction as an American in a foreign land quite often.

Instead I tried an over the counter medicine that knocked my cold out within twenty-four hours. Damn. There’s nothing like that available back home. I can’t remember what it was (I’m sure it is common enough most non-Americans know), but do remember that it was not for sale back home because if you took more than the specified dose you’d die. Can’t have that in America. The FDA won’t allow it. Dumb. Not only would it cure the common cold, but it would strengthen our country’s gene pool, too.

Once, at the end of a trip to Thailand I ended up with stuffed up sinuses from an air conditioner blasting its frigid force directly onto my face while I slept. Noom’s fault. We’ve come to an acceptable nighttime air conditioning setting that keeps me cool enough to sleep and him warm enough not to freeze. But while in Phuket, he was on holiday, an official touri. And touri, in his experience, set the a/c to freezing. So my sinuses suffered and I was dreading the flight home. Take offs and landings induce mind boggling amounts of pain when your sinuses have decided to fuck with you.

The next morning, Noom could tell something was wrong. And attained nirvana when I told him. Taking pills is second in enjoyment to a Thai only to sharing their bounty of medicine. Noom dug through his travelling supply of medicines and pulled out a small bottle of antihistamine he frequently takes thanks to spending nights with touri and their love affair with air conditioning. Dr. Noom then got very serious and explained the dosage, use, and expected results to his patient. I took the pills and made a mental note that he’d probably enjoy a bit of doctor/patient role playing in the future.

Worked like a charm (the pills, not the role playing thingy). I’ve never looked, but I don’t think you can even buy just an antihistamine back home; it’s usually just one of many active ingredients in the multi-symptom pain relievers available. Maybe the Thai fascination with single purpose pills makes more sense than I’d thought.

Whenever I visited Thailand with my friend Ann, she’d end up with a case of the trots from eating street cart food. Never stopped her from doing it, but always caused a day or two of down time. I’d hit the nearest pharmacy, pantomime her symptoms and for a few baht walk out with a plastic bag filled with a variety of pills.

On the way back to Ann and the hotel, I’d repeat the mantra provided by the pharmacist, “Black pill now, white pill twice a day, pink pill after eating,” hoping I didn’t screw up the dosages. I never knew what any of the drugs were, but they always worked. It may not have been the drugs that solved her problem, it could have been the amount of pills she’d ingest served to block her system up.

When Noom and I are out shopping it’s easy to put a smile on his face. Any minor purchase will do that. But nothing makes that smile wider than a few pills. The idea of medicine excites him. He already has a few hundred pills to be taken daily. One more just makes life better. Most are vitamins. Some are for body building. I’ve no doubt the majority are placebos. But they work just as effectively as the real stuff. Just being able to take a pill works its magic on Noom.

Unlike old people who are so fascinated with their medication regime that they feel compelled to share it with you, in great detail, Noom’s daily pill popping regime is not much of a topic of conversation. “What’s that one for?” usually gets nothing but an affirmative nod in reply. If he’s feeling particularly generous he’ll add more details, “Black.”

There are several he takes daily for his body building routine. Some kind of amino acid supplement is one of them. I only know this because he decided since they come from America they must be cheaper in America and since he hates wasting my money suggested I pick up a supply for him back home. My visit to a body building supply store was a trip to a foreign land in its own right. Picking out the correct bottle of pills, even with help, took almost as long as it  takes to fly to Thailand. On my next trip I proudly showed him my booty. Noom nonchalantly informed me he’d changed his pill routine and now used some other supplement instead. I went in search of some Tylenol 3 for my headache.

Now, on our first night together on each trip we stop in at his favorite candy store pharmacy on Patpong 2 and pick up a new bottle of supplements. For the last few trips it’s always been the same product, but purchasing the pills is only half the fun. A long discussion with the pharmacist is also part of the enjoyment and since that conversation is all in Thai, I step outside and watch the Japanese tourists show the same amount of detailed scrutiny in picking out which gogo bar they will visit for the night. A visit to one of Bangkok’s flesh pots is medicinal in its own right. And you don’t need a prescription.

I always slip him more than enough baht for that purchase because I know the change will be put to good use. When he finishes he comes out with a big smile on his face displaying a bag of some new pill the pharmacist convinced him he needed in addition to his regular supplements. I’ve learned not to ask what the new pills are, what they are for, what they do. My reaction is supposed to be a smile just as wide as his; I’m supposed to be happy to be sharing in his good fortune. That’s not hard to do. His joy is infectious. And they haven’t come up with a pill for that yet.

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