I’m not a big fan of tattoos. I know everybody below the age of 30, or maybe that’s 40, has one if not more these days. And that’s OK. But I’m old enough that from my generational viewpoint tattoos always were pretty much reserved for bikers and guys in the Navy. My bar boy friend and love of my life, Noom, has tats. Lots of them. But then they aren’t the fake tribal style that everyone sports back in America these days. They all have cultural significance, so I can hardly complain. And considering the body they adorn, a body I have the good fortune of knowing intimately, I really can’t complain.

Noom has tats on his arms, his shoulder, his chest, his thigh, his leg, and all over his back. I bought the one he has on his wrist. It’s my name. Kidding. The one I like the best is the small red devil on his ass. I guess that one doesn’t have a cultural significance, though.

I’ve noticed lately that the majority of bar bois are sporting ink. The younger guys seem to be going more and more for the tribal designs; large swirls banded along their arms, shoulders, and chests. I’ve even seen a few adopting the Latino style of heavy Gothic lettering spanning the width of their back and chest. While I’m not one of the guys who’d never off a tattooed bar boi, even for me that’s a bit too much.

Traditional Thai tats are called Sak Yants, temple tattoos that are usually done by a monk and hold magical properties, providing protection or bringing good luck. The more popular yants bring prosperity and money. Imagine that. The Khmer script Angelina Jolie has inked on her upper back is a well-known sak yant, even before Angelina decided to brand herself with it. Most of the ink Noom has on his back are yants and he has explained that they take quite a long time to inscribe and are quite pricey to boot. But he only began discussing the meaning of his after I pointed to one of them and told him what it was (amazing what you can discover by Google). He was quite taken aback when I started talking about his yant and let out an incredulous, “How you know dat?” Thais really don’t like farang knowing ‘Thai’ stuff. I can’t figure out if that is due to their xenophobic nature, or that they are just trying to keep their personal life secret.

When Noom finally disclosed to me that he was married I considered it a watershed moment in our growing relationship. Transcending the customer/prostitute dynamic when you are in a relationship with a bar boi is an uphill battle. Having him divulge his marital status, on his own accord, was significant to both of us. He no longer lives with his wife and considers himself divorced. “Oh,” I joked when he told me, “The string broke.” And again I get the wide eyed, “How you know dat?” It’s good to keep him a bit off balance regarding just how much I know about Thailand. Thais can act very superior when they feel they are on firm ground. Nice to knock ‘em down a peg or two on occasion. I seldom use any of the Thai I know, English works fine. Noom assumes I know nothing. So on my last trip when I told a Taxi driver leeow kwah (turn right), Noom’s head jerked immediately around. I could see the gears ticking in his head.

A year ago I brought some friends with me on my annual year-end trip to Thailand. We’d had dinner and were walking through the night market headed back toward our hotel with Helena bitching about how tired she was. Translated, that meant she didn’t want to browse through the market; she wanted to head back to the bar at the hotel. She has a few tats, and as we’d just past a tattoo stall I joking said, “too bad. I was gonna buy you a tattoo.” Be careful of off the cuff comments. She was jazzed at the idea and I was out 1,000 baht for a small Om inked onto her wrist. Noom, who has adopted Hinduism as his new religion, oversaw the operation to insure the om met his standards. As difficult as it is at times for me to figure out what’s going on in his head, other times I can read him like a book. And that night in our room at the hotel, it was pretty evident where his mind was going.

The next night wandering through the market again, on our way out for the evening, I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the tattoo shop to get him an om, too. He was thrilled. But first I got another, “How you know dat?” Dude, sometimes you are just too obvious!

So I guess I really can’t bitch about his tats since I’m partially responsible for his growing collection. And having him and one of my best friends getting matching tattoos was kinda cool to boot. I just hope he never wants the two of us to do the same.

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