Friday Night in Bangkok

I left the hotel room with a nice buzz, searching for orange juice. In front of one of the food stalls a young Thai guy with long dreds was juggling three flaming torches. I thought about sitting down to watch the show, but the call of fresh juice was stronger. I could come back once my sugar itch was satisfied.

The juggler was finishing his act just as I returned. I thought for a second I had missed out, but shortly realized he was just one of a troupe. Now a sexy African woman with flaming poi moved into the center of everyone's attention. She didn't just spin the poi; she danced with them. I was mezmerized. The two balls of fire shot in and out around her body, illuminating its ample curves.

Next a white guy stepped up, again with poi. He wore a classic street performer's uniform: bandana, baggy long long sleeves, and pants cut off mid-calf. His skill with the poi was like nothing I'd seen. The climax came when he let the chain coil around his arm so that the flaming ball paused on his shoulder for half a beat before he unwound the chain and repeated the trick on the other arm.

He left with a deep bow and a cheesy grin, making way for the African beauty. This time she had a single poi in one hand and in the other a short staff, alight at both ends. As the flames sliced through the air around her, I thought back to my recent research into ninjas. Replace those flames with blades and she would be deadly. It could all fit together so perfectly, the juggling providing the perfect training, the performer gig the perfect cover. A sort of gypsy-ninja hybrid. Damnable gypsies. I still can't get over the stealing.

At that point there was a short intermission. The vendor behind me started hastling me and a couple beside me to move. In broken English he explained that we were keeping customers away. For a second the couple beside me seemed not to understand. Then recognition flashed across the man's face and he explained to the woman in Japanese. I felt a sort of bond and struck up a conversation in Japanese. Both looked surprised. "You speak Japanese?" he asked me.

Before I could answer, our conversation - indeed, every conversation around - was interrupted. A punk looking kid kicked over the performers' kerosene. I''m not sure how it ignited, but it did, and it poured across the pavement in a swath of flame maybe twenty feet long and four feet wide. By some miracle it poured across the area that had been the impromptu stage, recently vacated.

The Thai juggler erupted in anger. He shoved the offender and grabbed him by the collar, yelling. He scolded him like you might a dog, pushing his face towards the flames. For a second I thought things might get out of hand. I was already on my feet, and I felt my muscles tense a bit as I sized everything up. Soon though, I saw that everything was actually well under control. The juggler was stopping just short of actual violence, and the punk was taking it all passively, blubbering apologies. It was harsh treatment, but appropriate, I felt, for a mistake that could have hospitalized someone.

What impressed me most about the whole scene was the other performers. They acted as if nothing were happening. They struck up conversations with anyone nearby, backs to the conflict. And then there was no conflict. The kid sat down, and the guy in the bandana lit up a staff.

After a couple more performances, the show finished. The audience then congregated around the stall where the performers were selling the tools of their trade: poi, clubs, staffs. One guy played with a staff for a minute, then offered it to someone watching. "I only know the martial arts techniques," he said, taking the staff. He went through a few quick routines, not as visually impressive as the others, but still displaying some mastery of the staff.

"Cool. What martial art is that from?"

"Ninjitsu."