My SouthEastAsia trip started on the mouth of the Red River, about one hundred miles below Hanoi, Vietnam. So, I followed the roads by the coast, along the western flank of the Beibu Gulf, then by the East Vietnam sea until Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), and then I went a bit upwards, crossed the border with Cambodia, visited its capital, Phnom Penh ភ្នំពេញ, and ended up in Pattaya city, in Thailand, a city famous for its unscrupulous nightlife. So, later in a bar I got to know Beam, she tells me her story, which goes more and less like this: “Sometimes I feel like a turtle that is being grilled over hot charcoal. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to escape, I cannot. I am powerless to change my destiny. I wonder if I was born to be so unfortunate; is this life my destiny? I pray to Buddha that this is not the case. My life seems to be that of a country girl who has spent her days escaping from a tiger, only to be eaten by a crocodile. Mine is an ever-worsening tale with no end in sight. You see, I am a prostitute, though farangs prefer to call women like me ‘bar girls’. I believe the term is more acceptable to westerners’ ears. But to a girl like me, it is all the same. My job means nothing to me anymore. I have long since given up any hope of happiness. I exist for the pleasure of others. You might say that the only certainty in my life is uncertainty. I couldn’t tell you how many men have bought me, not that it matters. I prefer not to remember them. In Thailand, we do not talk about such private matters. It is not customary to talk of things that should be forgotten. It is also of little concern to a girl of my standing. The only thing that matters is the baht that I am paid. Though I suspect that mine is not the worst existence in the world, I must confess I wouldn’t know if it was. I know little else. You can buy me for two thousand baht. In return, I will do almost anything that is asked of me, but I won’t kiss customers - some things are just too intimate to do with a stranger. Kissing is for a wife or girlfriend; sex is for Thai girls like me. If we were to meet, you might comment on how I look slightly different to other Thai women. You might say that my face is round, like a full moon in the sky. This is a trait I inherited from my father, who was born in Ubon Ratchathani, the second biggest province in Isan, the northeast region of Thailand. Bordering Laos and Cambodia, Ubon Ratchathani was the location for an American airbase during the Vietnam War. This may or may not have had something to do with my father becoming a soldier in his teens. By the time I came along, he was a sergeant major, responsible for the instruction of new recruits. My father was a restless young man, or so he would later describe himself. When I was a little girl, he used to set me on a krae (a low table of bamboo) and tell me about how he had ended up in the province of Nakhon Ratchasima, commonly called Khorat, where he was entranced by a beautiful young girl who worked at one of the stalls in the marketplace. I have a black and white photograph of this girl, my mother, which was taken shortly after they met. Her oval face is framed by her shiny, black hair, which is parted in the center and drawn up into a perfect bun on the top of her head. She is wearing a sleeveless, V-necked, polka-dot dress, and is smiling sweetly at the photographer—in a way that only lovers do. She used to boast to me about all the men that flirted with her. She was proud of her beauty, particularly since she had to quit school in third grade because her family was poor farmers. Sadly, they saw no reason why a woman should be educated, only to be married off to a man and be dependent on him for the rest of her life. I do not know what year they met, or what year they married. Little details like that have never interested me. All I know is that my brother Nop was born in seventy three, I was born in seventy four, and my sister Nang in the next year. Apparently we lived in rented accommodation for the first two years of my life. It was a tiny house of which I have absolutely no recollection, although I do remember my mother pointing it out to me one day. She tried in vain to jolt my memory about the room in which I slept and where my brother and I had played and fought together. ‘Don’t you remember that room, where you slept in a hammock as a baby?’ she asked one day. She also pointed out a tamarind tree, which she said I used to cling to when I was learning to walk, but I stared at it disinterestedly; it was a stranger’s house to me, with its simple two-storey style and wooden fence. ‘Sorry, Mae I don’t remember it at all,’ I replied, and she seemed a little disappointed. After the arrival of the children, the rent got too expensive for my parents and we moved into accommodation in Khorat provided by the army. We lived there with other soldiers and their families. I think Mae must have missed the little house, though she never admitted it; it represented more than simply being the first place she lived in after she married. It reminded her of a young couple in love and excited about their shared future. At least, that is what I like to believe, considering how the future unfolded. The wooden town house that became my home was provided by the Thai government for its military. Accordingly, there was nothing distinguishing about it. It was one of hundreds that were built in small rows around the airbase where my father was stationed. Each row consisted of ten columns for ten families, and each dwelling was a copy of its neighbor; two storeys with a small kitchen and bathroom at the rear and a bedroom/living area just inside the front door. Upstairs, there was another small bedroom and a tiny area in which to meditate and worship. My father was the only one who used this room, and only on “wan phra”, or what you might call holidays. It had a little altar where a small Buddha sat, flanked by two vases of flowers. Even now, I can still remember the heavy perfume of the incense sticks he burned as an offering to Buddha. The combined smoke of the incense and candles swirled as my father, kneeling in front of Buddha, chanted in a language unintelligible to me. I walked on my knees and sat quietly behind him in a position called wai — head bowed and hands pressed together—hoping that goodness would protect me. I remember that room as being filled with serenity. Although we were poor, I didn’t have an unhappy childhood. We grew up surrounded by tanks and military aircraft, which were of no concern to us children, though I have pleasant memories of watching planes taking off every morning. The army base was a place where everyone knew everyone else. The women knew each other, the children knew each other; you could say that even the dogs were familiar with each other’s tails. Today, what I remember, perhaps more than anything else, is the color of the earth. It was a reddish brown, and when you rode at full speed on a bicycle, the dirt would swirl up and taint your socks. It was contrasted by the surrounding greenery and deep-blue sky. There were lots of trees and acres upon acres of green Bermuda grass. The summers were always extremely hot, and I can remember that the trees gave us shelter from the sun when it reached its highest point in the sky. A little bit away in the distance was a big, white wall that encircled the camp, shutting out the rest of the world. I am now a mother, and I realize the camp was perfect for children, who were unable to escape and always happiest when a parent was within shouting distance. The army base was our world. I had no inclination to leave it and explore what lay beyond its walls. You could say that I wasn’t a very adventurous child, because I dared not leave the confines. This was my first mistake, to ignore the bigger picture and be content with what was immediately in front of me? One of my earliest memories is that of my mother getting me ready for my first day of school. I remember sitting on her lap as she gently braided my hair. I loved my mother, but if I had to choose which parent I was closest to as a child, I would have to say my father. Por used to let me accompany him when he cycled to the market and also when he went fishing. The two of us would sneak into a paddy field where he’d dangle a bamboo stick that had a furiously wriggling worm or a small toad hooked to the end of it. He found it more productive to leave the stick unmanned for about thirty minutes or so and then return to check on its progress. I always hoped there would be a huge fish waiting for us, but invariably it would be just a little eel or a snakehead, which was better than nothing, I guess. My father would shrug in resignation as he pulled up the homemade rod, seemingly content just to have something to bring home to my mother. Another highlight, if you could call it that, was the Red Cross Fair, which took place every winter. We went as a family, I holding Por’s hand, my brother upon his shoulders and Mae holding my sister. These fairs were a marvel to me, with so many different toys on sale. Looking back now, I suppose it was just a few makeshift stalls selling cheap toys, but my brother and I were practically speechless with the excitement of it all. One year I fell in love with a blond-haired doll and dragged Por over to where she was on display, so he could admire her as I did. I didn’t ask my parents for much as a rule, but I begged my father to buy her for me. He shook his head sadly in reply, ‘I can’t afford to buy her because if I buy you something, then I will have to buy your brother and sister a toy too, or it wouldn’t be fair, and I just can’t.’ I remember that day clearly because it was then that I learned that not everyone is equal. I watched other children leave the fair with their new toys, and I experienced envy, perhaps for the first time. Por hadn’t exaggerated. My parents never bought their children toys. My sister and I often collected leaves and branches to play make believe kaikong in which we would act out the roles of food vendor and customer. My father was an honest man, and I believe he hoped that we would make something of our lives. Unfortunately, a soldier’s lot was not a profitable one. I think he earned, at the most, around six hundred baht a month, which was not enough to support a family of five… and later he would spend half his money on booze, and the arguments with my mother would become more and more intense until that, he would disappear and not to be seen again, and so, me, my brother and my sister had to start working very prematurely in order to help my mother to support the house, and it is for this and other reasons that I end up coming to Bangkok alone…”. Then, after listening to this I didn’t want to come to Bangkok, and so, I decided to cross directly by boat the north branch of the so called Gulf of Thailand (about one hundred miles of water), and already on the boat I got in touch with an English guy reading a book named “The Naked Tourist: In Search of Adventure and Beauty in the Age of the Airport Mall”, and so, I find the title interesting and decide to ask him what is it about. And “It’s about a journey from the theme resorts of Dubai to the jungles of Papua New Guinea”, he says “the author shows us the plastic people that amuse themselves frequenting that ultra-modern resorts, venturing into cosmetic-surgery packages, spas, spiritual retreats, sex clubs, the so called “back to nature” trips, and then it goes into the jungles of Papua, looking for people that have never seen a tourist… making this parallel”; “it looks interesting” I say, and then I ask “what about you, what are you visiting in Thailand…”; “Well, I’m going to visit a friend in Hua-Hin and then, we may drive down to the Phang-nga province, where the Phuket inland is. “Hum, I see, but that is one of the main tourist attractions of Thailand, don't you know? It may be full of the things you just referenced from that book, that is, the ultra-modern resorts, the people venturing into cosmetic-surgery packages, the spas for spiritual fulfillment, and the sex clubs for the so called “back to nature” trips…” And so, once we moor in Hua-Hin, I’m looking at the menus on the front of the restaurants by the pier. I read things like Hoi Thod - Crispy Oyster Omelettes / Pu Ob Woonsen - Baked Crab and Glass Noodles / Tom Yum Goong - Thai Seafood Prawn Soup / Hor Mok Pla - Steamed Fish Curry / Hoy Kraeng - Blood Clams / Yen Ta Fo - Tofu and Seafood Soup / Tod Mun Pla - Thai Fishcakes / Khao Tom Pla - Seafood Rice Soup. And so, I tried the last one, the seafood rice soup, and it was very good. Then, still by the pier, I pass a big storage place where they dry the fish, and inside, I see a long clothesline that has fish instead of clothes, and I ask the name of the fishes and they tell me about the Mekong giant catfish, the king mackerel, the rohu, a species from the carp family, the Barramund or giant sea perch, and the pakpau, or balloonfish, or bubblefish, or globefish, or toadfish, and I get curious about this one, so I’m gonna look in internet about this fish and it says that the majority of the pufferfish species are toxic and some are among the most poisonous vertebrates in the world. It also says that, in certain species, the internal organs, such as the liver, and sometimes the skin, contain tetrodotoxin, that are highly toxic to most animals when eaten; nevertheless, the meat of some species is considered a delicacy in Japan, Korea and China, when prepared by specially trained chefs who know which parts are safe to eat and in what quantity. And so, after reading this I decide that I will eat no more seafood soups, and I thank God I’m still alive. Then, I ask around where is the train station, so, I pass the Jetty Huahin Hostel, I pass the Tamlokor fast-food restaurant, I turn right and go along the Comsin road, I pass the Ruen Boran Thai Massage, the Jailhouse Guesthouse, The Oh-Sot Bar & Restaurant, then I turn left and go along the Naebkehardt Road, I pass the 7-eleven supermarket, a common supermarket in Thailand, I pass some clothes stores, I pass the J-Tum congee and pork soup place, I pass the Shiva Cannabis - Weed & Bar, I pass the Mit Ya Pharmacy, I pass the Hua Hin Clock Tower, but I see no clock, what I see is a big panel with a huge photo of the king Bhumibol the Great when young, dressed with his general suit. So, I cross the main road, I pass in front of the Subhamitra hotel, and then I pass some kind of governmental building with a couple dressed in imperial/military uniforms, both with red jackets, he with a golden band across his chest, she wearing a flight attendant hat with a bunch of feathers raised above the head. I try to understand who those characters are, but can’t get it, so, I turn right, I pass in front of a garden with the statue of Phon Kingphet, I pass the Golf Inn Hotel and finally I get to the train station, a small building with its characteristic pointed roof, like some kind of fancy temple. I wait there, in its surrounding gardens, and while waiting I get to know some local guy that is also traveling. We talk a bit about buddhism, coca-cola, animal rights and the dog meat trade in Thailand. I ask him if it is illegal or no to eat dog meat in Thailand, and his answer is not conclusive. Then I’m already on the move, inside the train. And at each stop some ladies get in the train and temporarily walk around the corridors foisting their food merchandise, that include some kind of dry sweets, peanuts, bags of fruits with small packages of chili sugar on the side, hot dogs on sticks, skewered pork meatballs, fish cakes, and even deep-fried chicken wings on sticks and then the drinks, fruit extracts with color agents and herbal teas that change color as the time passes by. And at some point, at some small station, a couple of hippies come in the train and get in the seat on my side, and while they mess up with their huge backpacks and remaining accessories, I get to know that they are actually from Russia, they are a couple, he is Mikhail and she is Alina. They tell me that they have come all the way from Russia until here by land, this is, they have crossed Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh and Myanmar (Burma), and then I ask them about countries like Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, countries I know nothing about, and Mikhail tells me that the “Oil-rich Kazakhstan is a relatively politically stable country, Kyrgyzstan is passing through some political turmoil we know nothing about and Tajiks are freckled people…”. Then I’m in Yala, on the border with Malaysia, at some small village. And because there’s no train at this time, I decide to go on the road and try to hitchhike, and when I reach Malaysian territory, I get to understand that people are fatter here. And so, I end up getting a ride with some guy that works for the government, he takes me to Seberang Perai, Malaysia's second-largest city by population. “Its heterogeneous population is highly diverse in ethnicity, culture, language and religion” the government guy says in is almost perfect english, “aside from the three main races, the Malays, Chinese, and Indians, Penang is home to significant Eurasian, Siamese and expatriate communities”, and so I ask him what kind of expatriates and he explains “mainly Americans and english… some rich arabs as well…” So, as recommended, I take a ferry at Butterworth and then I’m in George Town, Penang island. The heat here is suffocating and so, I sit under some arched veranda, at some coffee house and I’m being attended by chinese looking people, people with their typical mutist-looking character. So, I drink an icy Teh Halia, that is a strong brew of black tea blended with condensed milk and ginger root and then I take the bus to Batu Ferringhi, a popular beach destination for expats. And so, I get curious about this name “ferringhi” because it looks something Italien, but no, after checking on the internet, I see that is a misspelling of the word peringgi, originally used in reference to the Portuguese conquistadors and then applied to all people of European descent, cognate with the Thai farang, also used by Thais to refer western tourists, a word derived from the Indian and Arabic language, that originally referred to the Franks but came to include Europeans in general. And so, on this beach I made friendship with a couple of expats, farangs, peringgi or ferringhi, as you wanna call it, so, I stayed with some of them for a while and some days after I went with them to Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia. So, already at the KLGCC - the Kuala Lumpur Golf Country Club, in Bukit Kiara, here I’m, now surrounded by some oil magnates from Dubai, Kuwait and Qatar that also wanna take me with them to one of their countries, but I refuse and some days after I’m in Singapore, officially the Republic of Singapore, an anglicisation from the native Malay, which in turn was derived from the Sanskrit word Siṃhapura, “siṃha” meaning 'lion', and “pura” meaning 'city' or 'fortress'. But I didn't like this city. I found this a shy, insipid and mawkish state and so, some days after I leave it and continue my journey south. I took a ferry from Harbourfront to Batam island, in Indonesia, and then from Batam to Bulan, and from Bulan to the Sugi island, and from the Sugi island to Sugibahwa, and from Sugibahwa to the Durian island, and from the Durian island to Sanglar, and from Sanglar to Tandjoengkilang and finally I reach the Sumatra island, that is the bigger island from the indonesian archipelago. And as I go around, I make many acquaintances in these first approaches… Thus, I have to say, I liked the Indonesian people, I found them very smiley, young spirit, practical and awake, it was enjoyable to spend time with them. And so, I traveled along the east banks of Sumatra, being taken my fishermen and boat people, sleeping here and there, sometimes inside houses elevated on the water, other times even inside boats they call there kelulus, a word derived from the Javanese "lulus", which means something like "to go right through anything". Said and done, some days after I reached the Java island, and from Pantai Kelapa Tujuh to Jakarta it was quick, so, yeah, here I’m now, at Jakarta city, the largest city of Southeast Asia, and one of the most populated cities in the world. I dwell around Kota Tua, a central area, and next to some smelly canals, I see whole families making picnics in the middle of the walkway where other people would pass, and inside the canals I can spot some kind of heads moving, this is, probably the Komodo dragon, a famous lizard that inhabits the muddy and polluted waters of certain rivers and canals of southern Indonesia and Australia, the largest extant species of lizards, growing to a maximum length of three meters and weighing up to seventy kilograms, someone tells me. Then I make fellowship with some of these people sitting on the floor by the smelly channel… and I will spend the night with them, we share some bullshit stories while drinking arrank, which is a distilled drink made from the fermented sap of coconut flowers, sugarcane, and red rice. Then, in the morning, they take me to their neighborhood, Depok, a very populated southern part of the city, and once there someone tells me that “the original dwellers of Depok were slaves of Balinese, Ambonese, Buginese, Sundanese, Portuguese Indo, Mestizo and Mardijker descent… and during the Bersiap, this is, the Indonesian civil war and war for independence, Depok was destroyed and many of its inhabitants killed by the Pemuda”, and so, I ask what is the Pemuda, and they say “when we say Pemuda we mean to say the Pemuda Pancasila, a far-right paramilitary organization established in the fifties, the organization's name refers to the official "five principles" of the Indonesian state..” and so, I ask which principles are that, and they tell me, “first, you should believe in one God only, second, you should defend a more just and civilized humanity, third, the unity of Indonesia, fourth, social justice for whole the people of Indonesia and fifth, a democracy guided by inner wisdom in the unanimity arising out of deliberations among…”; “What?” I ask, “the deliberations among…” they say again, and we didn't go further. Then I disembark at Pelabuhan Gilimanuk, that is the western point of the Bali island, and so, as I get there I arrange a ride with a certain Ketut, a businessman that owns a shop in Denpasar, a tourist hub located at the southern part of the inland, about one hundred kilometers from here. And along the way we talk about Australian people, Michel Jordan, Muhammad Ali, Michael Schumacher etc. Then, once in Denpasar, I see temples everywhere, a lot of therapy parlors, cafes with garden, and small stone/cement statues in the front of the different kind of buildings and shops, and so, I ask my mate Ketut if that is any representation of the Gods, and he tell me that “no”, “that are guardian statues, typically a pair of characters that complement each other, such as young and old brother… That is, most Balinese use the male-female Dwarapala to guard their homes, sometimes they look alike, but they are not identical. Often the statues are like a mirror image rather than an exact replica.
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