Thailand : Pak Thong Chai : Thai hospitality : Silk Weaving

The next day we woke late, had a lovely lunch with Job and bussed to Pak Thong Chai - a small town very much off the tourist trail and the home of Thai silk weaving.
We checked in (out of pure laziness) to a hotel with all mod cons: air con, hot water, a bath, TV, a fridge and a terrace. Despite all this the place had a bad vibe. For one, the hot water was cold. We got the manager in, and told him "the hot water is cold". He simply agreed: "Yes, the hot water IS cold"!
We wandered into town for dinner and came across a nice open-air restaurant, with a menu entirely in Thai script. With much animation and gesturing we managed to convey to the waitress that "we'll have whatever the people at that table are having".
A dish of raw meat and seafood arrived, in a raw egg sauce. Then a platter of raw noodles and vegetables. Then a bucket of cold water, and a ladle. The waiting staff were watching rom the next table, whispering, pointing and giggling; the pause was getting embarassingly long and so we thought we better eat something.
I served out some unidentifyable pieces of flesh and gingerly put one in my mouth. It was squid, very chewy.
Just then a big fire arrived. The staff thought we were weird but extremely funny. A grill (with a tray around the edge) was placed over the fire, and a small boy ran over excitedly: "We help, we help!"
He put the meat from our plates onto the grill, and ladled the water into the tray along with vegetables and noodles.
The meal turned out exquisite and lots of fun.
We left our hotel as soon as possible. That place totally creeped me out. Apparently I woke in the middle of the night totally freaked out because there was a noisy bird on our terrace.
We wanted to see some silk weaving, so I cheekily asked in the first silk shop we came to. The owner didn't speak any English but ran around to the back and drove round in his pick-up. We piled in, puzzled. He dropped us at his factory several miles away, then sped back.
All the parts of the process were there, complete with wrinkley, authentic looking types who slogged away.
Two guys squatted and sorted bales of lumpy raw silk thread, energetically washed it and dyed it.
The dying was in a solid metal cauldron over a rampant fire, with sharp logs jutting out. The pink liquid bubbled merrily surrounded by rickety shacks and chemical barrels.
The dyed silk dried in row on row of shimmering locks in the sun.
The large shacks where the silk was spun onto reels and woven had true sweat shop ambience, with strip neon lights, lazy ceiling fans and row on row of wooden benches and grinning faces. The looms (ta-tok in Thai) ran furiously as arms and legs waggled.
We walked back down the highway in the baking sun, looking for the silk cultural centre. Later on, we were laughed at and informed that the centre had been closed for four years!
The sun stung, we hitched back to town. As we clambered into the back of a pick-up, a head popped out: "What are you doing? Come in the car, it's too hot outside!"
So we did, and met Tuk-Tao, Daeng and Pa-Peng. They were lovely. Only Tuk-Tao spoke English, but we all communicated in smiles and frantic arm waving.
They seemed very confused we were in Pak Thong Chai, somewhat of a backwater. So first they took us to the (touristy) silk weaving factory where we saw the working of the looms. They also had some fantastic photos of the life of silk worms. All parks of the worms are useful, the cocoons are spun into silk, the moths can be fried and eaten.
We then went for lunch, this time we had some guides to the menu. They were amazingly interested in Western culture and especially FOOTBALL. Tik (Daeng's boss - who we met later) knew almost all British football clubs (in all divisions) but thought that all were named after towns, but made the leap to ask if we were from Aston Villa.
By this time we were some distance out of town and wondering how we could get back.
Names in Thai all mean something: the Thais could not see how our names were just names. Apparently the names 'Blue Jeans', 'Gate', 'Turd', 'Pi' and 'Pu' are not uncommon.
We mentioned Khao Yai. They happened to live just South of Khao Yai and invited us to see their home village.
We drove for hours. We stopped briefly at a market for some durien (foul smelling fruit) and some grey and unappetising fish curry. The rolling countryside opened up against a dark background of Khao Yai mountains. It was lush, fertile green plants on orange hills round a huge mirror lake. We dropped Pa-Peng at his house and stopped in to meet his wife and baby - FANG! Both Tid and Pa-Peng were surprisingly family men, taking real care of their babies and wives. All three were health workers at tiny village health stations, so rural they were often paid in bananas. As night fell it slowly became apparent we were staying for dinner, a veritable banquet. Bottles of Chang were lined up alongside strange Thai dishes: sour sausage, deep fried sweetcorn, grey fish curry, raw gherkin. Two of Daeng's friends were invited for dinner from the nearby health stations: Tik and Tid.
One of the oddest things was how Daang had a laptop, digital camera, huge TV and HiFi; but no shower (sponge baths only) or telephone.
11 bottles of Chang later, Tik and Tid were drunk and headbanging to Bon Jovi. Liv and I were sober and tired. We quietly negotiated the sponge bath, ours sounding much less exciting than Tik's energetic sploshing.
We woke at 6:30am (after 5 hours sleep) to GARLIC NOODLES! Liv and I ate gingerly.