It was another night in Claytons small bar in Chinag Mai, the usual screaming bar-girls and Clayton's drunken bayings. The night was hot, the rains had ceased and steam was pouring back into the sky off the soaked pavements. A tall, lean, affable American took a table next to me on the tiny veranda, grinning at me in recognition. I grinned back and nodded hello before turning back to my book. A short while later like two thieves thick, we'd fallen into conversation oiled by the slick supply of fresh beers. We swapped storied and told tall tales, 'marvellous tales of ships and of stars and of isles where good men rest'

His name was Mike and this is his story.

Mike had had enough. He'd worked for years in the US as a fairly successful engineer, but like so many men (oddly always men and not women) that I'd met on my travels, something was missing, something was lacking. Mike had a hobby, with his time off he would juggle - balls, clubs, clatter-sticks the works. He would ride a uni-cycle, walk tightropes and swallow fire. Just for fun. His uneasiness and desire to see more of the world eventually led him to quit his job, rent out his home and travel the world for a while, trying to work out what was missing his life.

And so eventually he found himself in SE Asia wandering around, poking his nose into whatever took his interest. He eventually found himself in Chiang Mai, Thailand's second city, ancient, noisy, polluted and smelly. And yet...and yet...there's a charm to the place that defies description. Small enough to be personal and yet large enough to drown in if that is your path. More so, it's a gateway to dozens of raw national parks, true wildernesses, a gatewey to Laos, Burma and China, surrounded by raft villages and ancient, peaceful, golden temples perched on lofty lush hills. And so Mike found somewhere that he finally felt at peace with, somewhere that somehow filled an emptiness in him that his material life in the west had failed to provide.

One day Mike went to a local orphanage, just to take some rice and fruit and say hello to those whose parents had abandoned their young for one reason or another, usually drink, drugs or gambling or death. It was there that he thought to show off his many captivating circus skills to the delight of a fascinated young audience that clapped and hooted at every trick and turn. It was there and then that it dawned on him, the last missing piece in his restless jigsaw. He would use his circus skills to reach out to children, those abandoned, those that had retreated into a private coccoon, those that had social and learning difficulties. Those that were lonely and missed even their abusive or departed parents.

He was a huge hit. Schools queued up to book him for their charges, paying him a pittance to Western eyes, but to him his refound joie de vivre was more than enough compensation, and the rental money from his home in America allowed him to live like a king here in Chiang Mai. After a couple of years, he finally met the love of his life, Miang. Pretty, intelligent and educated he fell for her like a planet turning the sun, forever fixed and fascinated in orbit around her and before long the two moved into a nest together.

Time marched on, and two years later, Mike realised that he wanted to spend the rest of his life living in Thailand with Miang and that he would sell up in America and build a new home with his wife here in Chiang Mai. Miang agreed, and Mike was the happiest man on the planet. Every night they would pore over maps, discussing the best place to build their new home, for it had to be good for the children that they were now planning on creating. Miang insisted that the new home should be in a traditional Thai style, and Mike was more than happy to go along with this. With one proviso. Much of traditional Thailand, and indeed much of SE Asia, use a simple 'squat and drop' means of toilet, if you're lucky there are two porcelain 'feet' to steady yourself on while you drop your load into a hole in the ground.

The only thing Mike insisted on was a proper, porcelain, Western flushing toilet. Some sensebilities are too precious for a Westerner to give up. Laughing, she agreed, it didn't bother her overly. They bought the land, hired an architect, drew plans and argued good naturedly over this and that and the other while they dwelled in romantic domestic bliss.

Eventually the time came for Mike to return to the States and start settling his affairs. He had to sell his home in order to pay for the new one in Chiang Mai, but was able to make down payments and meet the intial costs without that. In the States he spent months tying up this loose end and that, negotiaing the sale of his home, visiting family and friends and generally saying goodbye. Every night he would spend hours on the phone to Miang. There were the usual problems, an estmate doubled, a delay here, legal problems there but as Miang told him of the woes she also told him of the progress being made and that by the time he would return pretty much all of the new house should be completed. And yes, she had ordered his Western porcelain flushing toilet.

Time slipped by, and eventually Mike had divested himself of most of his US assets and was on his way back to Chiang Mai. The house was all but ready, in a few weeks he and Miang could move in and his new life truly take root.

The journey was long and torturous, delay after delay, and in those days there were no mobile phones to keep loved ones clued up to their whereabouts. He ended up at Chiang Mai airport at something like three in the morning, exhausted and irritable, not the best mood to greet his fiancee. He was almost grateful that she wasn't there to greet him and felt guilty at the feeling, he hadn't seen her for so long but just wasn't in the mood for anything but rest. He got to an airport hotel and tried phoning her but couldn't get through. He fell asleep, tomorrow all would be well.

The next day, he hired a car, he still hadn't been able to get a line to Miang, but that wasn't so unusual, the Thai phone system was dreadful at best. He decided to drive out to the new home because it was on the way to Miang's small flat in the middle of Chiang Mai. Eventually he arrived at their plot, on the edge of the country and the city. He killed the engine and climbed out, opening the door while his stunned eyes registered the view. For there before him stretched away a field with nothing but parched scrub-grass and wilting weeds. Numbly, he strode into the middle of the plot, where his eyes had caught an object, namely a white, porcelain, Western toilet that Miang had obviously just dumped there.

He soon realised that there was no Miang, no home and that he'd given the best part of his savings to a scheming, thieving bitch.

What hurt him in particular, oddly enough, was that she must have put the toilet there the day before, indeed it was a miracle that it had not been already appropriated by some local person. That she would rob him was one thing, that she would do it so maliciously hurt his soul. Unsurprisinglyy he never saw or heard from Miang again. Her flat had been rented to someone else months earlier, her phone line diverted.

I was frankly gobsmacked at this story, my heart went out to Mike, but he was killing himself laughing as he told it, and I couldn't help but join in. Soon we were in tears, the rib-hurting convulsions wracking our bodies. The event hadn't changed him, he still worked with orphaned children, he still loved life here, and he had met a new Thai woman with whom he'd now lived with for seven years.

And no, he had no plans to build a new home.

yechydda,