Murphy's Golden Rules
In an Irish pub in Nong Khai, a temple for expats, Murphy's Golden Rules lay down the law.
“Do you miss Ireland?”
“When it’s not raining, Ireland is a great place,” Michael replies, sipping his post-workout tonic thoughtfully.
I wonder what he is brooding about; what it means to leave your home forever and still have proud traces of it on your skin – he who has tasted many lives, at least three. First he was a farmer in the Irish countryside, then an English teacher in Thailand, and now he is a dispenser of sayings and pleasant small talk, waiting for something to happen, and when it does, rest assured, it will not be pleasant. A thought not born of pessimism, it is the incipit of Murphy’s Golden Rules, the ten rules engraved on a plaque on the wall behind him; the first? “Beauty is superficial skin; ugliness goes straight to the bone”. In his sunglasses, the reflection of the Mekong flows undaunted, punctuating the early morning light.In a silence of the most sincere kind, the minutes tick by and the ashtrays fill up:
“Another beer, please!”
“On the rocks?”
“All right… thank you.
Anglosaxon Temple
Michael has been running his business for over four years in Nong Khai, Thailand, a town on the border with Laos. His Irish pub is more than just a venue. It is a fortress for nostalgic outsiders who are tired of turning the pages and realising that the book no longer makes sense. A temple where Anglo-Saxon expatriates take off all their masks and don the robes of the high, stained by an unforgettable past.
“I have lived here for over ten years, which is very comfortable. Not only does it allow us to live comfortably on our savings, but it is also safe, has warm temperatures all year round and delicious local cuisine,” Grant, an Australian retiree who has chosen to spend his old age in the Land of Smiles, tells me. “I also have access to quality medical services with health insurance, which is necessary to live here. But I am not very interested in it.”
“In what sense?” I ask strangely. “Let’s just say that the way things are going, I might as well tell my kids in Australia where I’ve hidden my wallet.”
A voice rises from the rows of chairs: “Tell me about it! I’ll come over and tell them, trust me!
Grant looks at me, smiles and closes his eyes: “You know, almost suddenly there comes a time when you have to cling to a sense of humour rather than a sense of purpose.
The cure
Hour after hour, the sun hides behind the clouds, taking the heat and humidity with it. Green, orange and blue neon light up the pub as the last flashes of light ignite the river current. The bar is adorned with leopard-print glasses, which the attentive waitresses keep filling. Cheerful giggles and big laughs fill the air.
Is that your bat hanging on the wall?”
Michael smiles, “Yes, but if you need it, only my wife can use it,” pointing to a woman with elegant Asian features who is busy serving customers. Sensitive, she notices our attention and gives us a lively look before heading for the kitchen.
She’s a tiger,” he tells me, “and since we’ve known each other, we’ve taken care of each other. Care with a capital “C”. So many patrons of Nong Khai’s Irish Pub have changed their lives in search of such precious medicine for the soul: a moment spent together, a caress, a “Good Conversation” that transcends language barriers.
I think many people have found it here, just as I think the night is coming to an end for me. I look around for the last few minutes I have allowed myself and try to savour the atmosphere of a place that has shown me how exceptions, sometimes more than rules, often help you to stay alive. As I leave, I think back to the last pill of Murphy’s Golden Rules: “The light at the end of the tunnel is the beacon of a train coming straight at you.”
And we like it that way, because we’re going to laugh at that bloody train; rest assured, it’s going to be riveting.
