Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?

We were on a tour, between activities, when my parents and I found ourselves the reluctant captive audience of our tour guide. During our time in Thailand, my mother and I had observed that these tours guides were oddly drawn to my father - pulled by some force that neither of us could see. Because we tended to be in the vicinity of each other, my mother and I often found ourselves a part of the father/tour guide bonding experience.

“I think,” asserted the guide, a native of Thailand who spoke English reasonably well, “these movies now, they no good.”

He took a moment to evaluate our reactions. I stared blankly. My mother stared, slightly quizzically. My father was nodding, already looking like he had something to contribute to the conversation.

“Not like old movies,” the guide continued, his enthusiasm for the topic clearly building, “Not like cowboy! Yes,” he grinned and nodded. “Cowboy! American western. Very good.”

He smiled broadly, looking in turn at each of our faces. I already knew what was next. Another mystery of Thailand, I’d discovered, was the way that people repeated themselves over and over. This seemed to be especially prevalent among tour guides. I had already lost count of the number of times that we had discussed the day’s agenda on this tour.

“Cowboy, very good!” The tour guide continued enthusing. “Not like movies today. Today movies no good. Very bad.”

“Well,” said my father, who had been waiting for an opportunity to join the discussion, “I wouldn’t say they’re ALL bad. There are SOME of them that are OKAY.” He stressed key words as he spoke, drawing them out. This was his discourse technique. He was acknowledging the validity of what his conversational partner said, but implying that there may be more layers to the topic – layers that he would be happy to expand upon. Generally this technique works very well for him, often resulting in an engaging and lively conversation that he derives great enjoyment from.

The tour guide stared at him for a long moment, face devoid of expression. There was a heavy pause as – for a time – both my parents and I watched him.

“I think,” he said, finally, “movies today, they no good.”

It was as if my father had never spoken. This was also not uncommon in Thailand, and had to do with the cultural value of "saving face." It did not - as a rule - deter my father.

“Before,” he continued, gesturing with his hands, “the movies, the cowboys, they show us America.” He nodded, once again beaming broadly at us. “Yes. They show us American life. Very good. Very good.”

His face changed, an expression of disgust filling it. “Today, movies no good. What they show? No good. No cowboys.”

Despite my affection for independent film, which I am fairly certain falls into the genre classified by our tour guide as “no good,” I had to concede that he had a point. There are shockingly few cowboys in today’s films. He had us there. I briefly considered bringing up “Brokeback Mountain,” but decided that it was too risky. There was a high probability that the conversation could rapidly degenerate, particularly if I had to start describing the plot in order for him to figure out which movie I was referring to.

My father appeared to be revving up for another attempt at conversation when – fortunately – our tour guide was distracted by additional members of our party.

As he hurried off, waving and shouting enthusiastically, I sat back to wait. There was, I knew, no need to worry about where he was going or what he was going on about. He’d be back. They were always back. As long as I stayed close to my father, I was safe.