It’s a unique pleasure of age to have a mystery revealed 4 plus decades after it was implanted in your consciousness. In my military days, there were several common GI-isms that were popular, some to the point of gross annoyance others more benign.
Boo-koo for example, got worn beyond the point of exhaustion and thankfully has receded to far corners of our linguistic culture. Home, on the other hand, has literally traveled around the world and today is an established part of the ghetto lexicon. I often wonder how many homies realize just where the word came from.
In the seventies, it wasn’t much of a linguistic leap to see that both terms were corruptions of French beaucoup and homme, residue of the French colonial days in Viet Nam that got passed to GIs, and from there went home to the States.
However, a third GI-ism was more elusive to me. Nit noi seemed to be one of those perfectly euphonious terms that just sounded right. I never gave it much thought, dimly assuming that someone, somewhere simply dreamed it up. We frequently referred to such and such as nit noi, meaning petty, or small. It most frequently modified bovine excrement.
Bob pointed out to me that nit noi is a Thai term that means essentially the same thing. Aha! Suddenly the dark veil of the Thai language lifted briefly and I realized that one of the islands we dived, Ko Racha Noi, was Little Racha Island!
Is my life complete? I don’t think so.

As I look forward to the return trip Friday morning, I’m already thinking about next January. I’ve acquired a new bad habit, and fortunately here not only is indulging it reasonably priced, this also appears to be one of the best places on earth to enjoy it.
My career as a scuba diver began last week. Although the conditions were not ideal, I was immediately hooked. Last week storms somewhere else caused unusually high seas and lowered the visibility under the water. No matter, conditions weren’t bad, and they were certainly good enough to make me glad I had another week here. As soon as I could, I was at the dive shop reserving another two days. Following their suggestion, I made the next 6 dives part of the advanced open water course.

My instructor, an English adventurer named Jon, and I became fast friends. Happily, by the luck of the draw we were partnered for both the open water and advanced open water courses. Among other things he took photos and videos that will be a project for me to edit and post when I get back.
The consensus from the knowledgeable Aussies and Brits that I’ve met is that aside from Egypt’s Red Sea this is the finest place in the world to dive. Life on land here, however, makes it the far more desirable destination.
All of this means I have a wonderful excuse for planning a return.
Bob, on the other hand, is considering grander things. His mission here was to determine if he can escape the winters in Washington State and be able to save enough cash to return during the building season work on his planned new house.
He proved it possible. His adventure took him north to Chaing Mai where he stayed for a couple of weeks before joining up with us in Patong. In Chaing Mai he ran into a Brit expat who owns several properties and Bob discovered he could rent one for the equivalent of $110 a month. Living frugally, but still very well, he’s decided he can stay from October through March and come home with a tidy savings.
Although he is not contemplating the path of many westerners who come here and never go back, in his own way he’s looking seriously at “going over the hill,” at least part time.
Which brings us to the last GI-ism. When those of us overseas started getting “short” we began to allow ourselves to dream of returning to “the world.” It was at once a deliberately disparaging term referring to wherever we were, while it elevated the States to a place that became more and more imaginary as our tours overseas dragged on. Inevitably it meant disappointment.
Looking at the upcoming 40 hour Friday, ok 39 hours, I look at the “world” differently. Being removed from the hype of elections, Super Bowl and all the rest, has been refreshing. The good folks at the resort defer to English speakers when we appear for breakfast and dutifully turn the Thai TV channels usually to the BBC and occasionally Fox News. Either way the stuff that flows from the tube is palpable. I wish they’d leave the Thai channel on.
The pencil necked men and scrawny, over made up women on the BBC are the pinnacle of the insufferable snot. Far too smug to recognize what caricatures they are, they relentlessly push global warming with a combination of condescension and confidence that we are far too stupid to remember climategate. As their superior public school accents drone on, the background graphics show the earth glowing red, presumably from the gasses still spewing from a silent Al Gore.
It reminds me of everything I don’t miss about the west.
Still there is the coming spring, open roads to cycle, and my own friendly skies to ply. There could also be an exploratory trip to Catalina Island to dive. Sitting here by the pool, mid-morning at home in a world away makes me realize how lucky I am to be born to experience this moment in history, where a long day’s travel will literally take you halfway round the globe, where undersea worlds are waiting to be visited, and countless other innocent pleasures need only to be recognized to be enjoyed.
I will never lose my sense of awe. I will never forget my gratitude.