Haggling With The Heyjoes In Phuket

I mentioned yesterday that I have a baby elephant story, and this is it. The title line isn't long enough, or this post would be entitled, "Haggling With The Heyjoes In Phuket -- Or, How I Came To Be Chased Down The Street By A Man With An Elephant On A Leash." And no, I am not making any of this up.

For those of you who don't know, Phuket is pronounced "poo-kett" with the emphasis on the second syllable. Phuket is a beach town in Thailand, and perhaps one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I visited there twelve years ago, when I was stationed aboard USS COWPENS, a guided missile cruiser that was then homeported in San Diego.

We were on our way home after what was then thought of as a particularly difficult deployment to the Middle East. The rest of the ships in our battle group had spent most of their time off Somalia performing a humanitarian mission, while we (the sole surface ship with Tomahawk missiles) had gone on to the Persian Gulf to stand watch over the airspace in Southern Iraq and make sure that Saddam's air force didn't resume their airstrikes on Iraqi Kurds. We'd had just three days off in four months, and Christmas was not one of them. We were at sea for Christmas...a regular working day.

When we dropped anchor near Phuket, I was physically exhausted. I hadn't slept more than 3 hours in any single 24 hour period in five months, and I'd just gotten a letter from my wife excitedly detailing her plans to spend a weekend in Mexico going horseback riding on the beach with "a friend." A male friend. All I wanted was a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

Phuket's beauty overwhelmed me. The bay was clear and emerald blue, and the surrounding hills rose sharply from the water, covered with vibrantly green jungle. Phuket was so green the color was alive. Environmentally-conscious Oregonians could learn a lot about green from Thailand. I guarantee they'd go home with green envy.

So, I was intriged. I watched my shipmates go ashore with mixed emotions...do I join them and explore this beautiful country, or do I take advantage of the quiet to catch up on my sleep? I opted for sleep that first night, particularly when I saw how much trouble it was to get ashore.

Normally, when a Navy ship pulls into a liberty port, we go ashore by one of two methods. The first (and infinitely preferable) method is to tie up to a pier and walk ashore. The other is to drop anchor a ways off shore and use boats to get to a dock, then walk ashore from there.

In Phuket, there is neither pier nor dock.

In Phuket, one got ashore by a slightly more complex process. Step one: step off the ship onto a 25-foot speed boat along with 25 or so of your buddies and sit down quickly because when everyone is aboard, the guy driving the boat is going to go to full throttle. Three-quarters of a mile later, step two: transfer to a 50-foot long, 3-foot wide canoe and immediately begin removing your shoes and socks. (The canoe is called a "bonka boat" because of the "bonka-bonka-bonka-bonka" sound made by their outboard motors.) The guy driving the bonka boat will stop and let everybody out when his bow is in about two feet of water, so step three is to wade ashore and put your shoes and socks back on.

Reverse the process to get back aboard the ship.

Now imagine reversing that process while drunk.

Now imagine reversing that process while in the company of twenty drunken sailors who are also reversing that process.

Now imagine reversing that process while you are sober and in the company of twenty drunk sailors...you get the idea.

As we came ashore, an attractive blonde woman walked up to us and said, "Well, MacArthur didn't look as good returning to the Philippines." It turned out she was from Los Angeles, a photojournalist on assignment, and anxious for some American company. My buddy and I were only too happy to oblige, but since I was married and he was not, the two of them got very much more chummy than I was comfortable being around, and I ended up exploring the city of Phuket on my own.

Now, since my first deployment, the thing I've enjoyed most is shopping in the little shops and stalls near the areas that we sailors tend to frequent. What you buy in these places is not as important as how you buy it...the haggling is the thing. (Think of Eric Idle as "Harry the Haggler" in "Monty Python's Life of Brian" and you get the idea.) Every single one of the shop owners is a Master of the Hard Sell, and they all greet you with, "Hey, Joe, you come see my shop?" We used to call this kind of shopping, "Haggling with the Heyjoes". Almost invariably, you'd go see his "shop" and it would turn out to be a refrigerator box filled with the same stuff you can get at Pier 1, but for 5% of the price. Not that there were prices marked on anything...you'd ask, the heyjoe would unhesitatingly give a price far lower than Pier 1's, and you'd either make a counter offer or put the item down and move on.

There are two reasons why you should never haggle with the heyjoes* alone. First, you and your buddy shop in different stalls, but when one of you starts negotiating a price, the other goes and casually shops within earshot of the haggling, and at just the right time, says, "Dude, this guy over here has the same thing for way less." The heyjoe you're buying from will almost always beat the lower price, knowing full well that your buddy made it up, and just like that, you've gotten a souvenir for a lower price.

The second reason you should never haggle with the heyjoes alone is that once in a while, you will encounter a heyjoe who takes the concept of hard sell directly into the darkest regions of psychosis.

While my liberty buddy and his photojournalist were making like bunnies in her hotel room, I was facing this second situation.

I am casually looking at...stuff...in one of the beachfront stalls, when I hear a voice say, "You buy, Joe?"

I turn around. There stands a deeply tanned Thai man in his mid-thirties. He is maybe 5' 4" tall, and holding out a monkey for me to examine. He has an entourage of perhaps six or eight other Thai men, none of whom are taller than 5'6", and each has a different animal on a leash.

Uh...no, thanks. They'd never let me have it on the ship.

He turns and hands the money to a cohort, takes control of a large bird. "You buy hawk, Joe?"

Pretty cool. But, no thank you.

I begin to edge away, focusing my attention on souvenirs that can be more easily explained to the customs officials when we return to San Diego.

"Then you buy my elephant, Joe!"

I turn back, and he is now holding the end of a rope leash, which is attached to the collar on a four foot tall baby elephant. An image pops into my head: trying to coax a panicked several-hundred-pound animal off a speed boat onto the accommodation ladder by which we get aboard the ship.

No, I say firmly. I look out to the bay, and there is the COWPENS. I point to her and explain that there is my ship. I cannot buy the baby elephant because I will not be able to get it home. (Forget that I'm not addressing the issue of what to do with it once I get it home. "Hi, Honey! This is Norma. Yes, I named her after your mother...isn't that sweet? She can stay on the balcony, can't she?")

AnimalSalesGuy tries to hand me the leash.

I am now beginning to look for escape routes. The hawk ignores me. He's probably seen this before.

"Come on, Joe, you buy! Such pretty elephant baby. You got kids? Elephant good with kids!"

What? Half laughing, half panicked, I turn and walk away. AnimalSalesGuy follows me. The elephant follows him.

I break into a trot. AnimalSalesGuy breaks into a trot. The baby elephant, probably thinking this is a strange game these humans are playing, also breaks into a trot.

"You buy elephant, Joe! You buy!"

No! I shout over my shoulder. I will not buy an elephant!

And that is how I came to be chased down the street by a man with an elephant on a leash.

I still think the hawk would have been cool, though.

*I'd like to make it clear here that the term "heyjoe" is not in any way derogatory, just as they're not being disrespectful in calling all male Americans "Joe."