HITCHHIKING diaries - Hanoi/Singapore

I’m leaving Hanoi now, this is, as I get out of the city I began wiggling my thumb while still walking on the side of the road, and, well, on the go, several motorcycles actually come to stop by my side, and then, while already riding on these motorcycles, one after the another, until the border with Laos I would be taken and then, once on the other side, I would get some more rides with a few motorcycles more, I mean, its drivers would take me across the country until the suburbs of Vientiane, the country's capital. And thus, some days after, I’m already leaving the country, say, going across the Nong Khai bridge, a bridge that actually makes the border with Thailand, a bridge that was first called by the locals “the HIV bridge”, this when it first opened in the beginning of the nineties. And thus, once on the other side, a Chinese guy making business in Thailand would take me until close to Bangkok. And accordingly, after leaving Bangkok, I would get a ride with this small Isuzu Gemini, its driver a round-faced lady with short hair tied up, and well, as we take off, she’s already going on uttering a speech that goes more and less like this “Sometimes I feel like a turtle that is being grilled over hot charcoal…. 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… you see, I am a prostitute, though farangs (foreigners) 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, this is, 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 is... I know little else... You can buy me for two thousand baht and 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 girlfriends; sex is for Thai girls like me... 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, 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… And so, by the time I came along, he was already a sergeant major, responsible for the instruction of the new recruits… this is, my father was a restless young man, and, as I remember, when I was a little girl, he used to set me on a krae, a low table of bamboo, and he would 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, like mine, now. In this foto, she were wearing a sleeveless, V-necked, polka-dot dress, and is smiling sweetly at the photographer, in a way that only lovers do. Plus, she used to boast about all the men that flirted with her... this is, 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 one year before me and my sister Nang was born one year after. Apparently we lived in rented accommodation for the first two years of my life, and that 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. And so, ‘Sorry Mae, I don’t remember it at all,’ I would reply, and then she seemed a little disappointed… and so, after the arrival of the children, the rent got too expensive for my parents and thus, we had to move into the accommodation provided by the army, and so, we lived there with other soldiers and their families, and I think Mae must have missed the little house, though she never admitted it; it represented more than simply the first place she lived in after she married… possibly, it reminded her of a young couple in love excited about their shared future, or at least, that’s what I like to believe, considering how the future unfolded... So, the wooden town house that became my home was provided by the Thai government for its military and 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 reserved for meditation and worship... but, 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... so, even now, I can still remember the heavy perfume of the incense sticks he burned as an offering to Buddha… and, kneeling in front of Buddha, the combined smoke of the incense and candles swirled around him, as he chanted in a language unintelligible to me. And, I remember that, 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. This is, despite the poorness, 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 and so, the army base was a place where everyone knew everyone…. This is, the women knew each other, the children knew each other; you could say that even the dogs were familiar with each other’s tails. And so, today, what I remember, perhaps more than anything else, is the color of the earth… It was a reddish brown, and when you were riding at full speed on a bicycle, the dirt would swirl up and taint your socks… and it would contrast with the surrounding greenery and deep-blue sky. Plus, 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… and so, a little bit away, a white wall encircled the camp, shutting us out from the rest of the world. And now, as a mother, I realize the camp was perfect for children, unable to escape and always… happy when a parent was within shouting distance. This is, the army base was our world. And I had no inclination to leave it and explore what would be beyond its walls... so, yeah, you can say that I wasn’t a very adventurous child, because I did not dare to leave its confines. This was my first mistake, and one of my earliest memories was 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 snake-head, 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, was the Red Cross Fair, which took place every winter, we went as a family, me 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… this is, 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… and I would beg my father to buy it for me, but he shook his head sadly and in reply he would say something like, ‘I can’t afford to buy it to you, coz if I buy it, then, I will have to buy your brother and sister a toy too, or it wouldn’t be fair, and I just can’t.’ And I remember this 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, 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… and, 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 of this money on booze, and the arguments with my mother would become more and more intense until that he would disappear to 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, but now, I’m leaving it… to never come back...”. she says, and so, as she kept explaining about her teenage years, and about her experience in America and in Japan, we arrive in Phuket, where she actually has some work to do. But, I find Phuket super fake, plastic, and so, instantly, I run away from this place overcrowded with tourists, this is, I hit the road again and eventually, on the going, this time I would get a ride with this accountant man that actually would takes me to Krabi, and then from Krabi further ahead I would get several rides with a couple of minivans heading to the Satun province, a province already making border with Malaysia. And thus, once I cross the border, there I go getting some more rides with some more individuals with slanted eyes, this ones with a rounder face, a bit more chubbier than the ones on the other side of the border, from here I came, and at some point, this is, on the vicinity of Alor Setar, I would get a ride with this guy in fact wearing what people call coke bottle glasses on his face, say, a guy that in fact is assuming to be a worker of the Malaysian government, and so, while we drive southern, already advancing just on the side of the strait of Malacca, he actually would tell me about the relations between Thailand and Malaysia, this while passing cities like Kuala Kedah, Kampung Kuala Kangkong, Kampung Sala, Kota Sarang Semut, etc. And accordingly, about one hundred kilometers after, as we reach Butterworth, a city just in front of the Penang island, this is, about this island my driver would say, “...aside from the three main races, Malay, Chinese and Indians, Penang is home to significant Eurasian, Siamese and other expatriate communities...”, and well, as he keeps exposing about these expatriates communities, soon we would reach the Sultan Abdul Halim Ferry Terminal where my mate actually would follow in one of that ferries to George Town, the capital of the so refereed Penang island. And so, as I wander here, around the hardboard, I sit under an arched veranda at some coffee house actually surrounded by some oil magnates from Dubai, Kuwait and Qatar, personages that after a brief contact with me, already want to take me to one of their countries, and I, well, I just laugh at that, but then, as it goes, later, one of them would in fact give me a ride to the capital of this country, say Kuala Lumpur, and so, after the whole day wandering through the city, again, I would move in the direction of the coastline, on the way passing places like Petaling Jaya, Shah Alam, Klang and then Pelabuhan Klang, a port town already in front of the Strait of Malacca, and actually, after leaving the surroundings of the port, I would somehow end up at the Pantai Kelanang beach, where I would make friendship with some Chinese guys that in the following hours, would take me in their van in the direction of the Republic of Singapore, and so, after passing Port Dickson, Malacca, Muar, Batu Pahat, Johor Bahru and others, as we reach this Singa country, my driver would tell me that this name, Singpore, is actually is an Anglicization from the native Malay, which in turn derives from the Sanskrit word Siṃhapura, “siṃha” being 'lion' and “pura” meaning 'city' or 'fortress', the Chinese man – my driver, tells me as we go across the Johor–Singapore causeway, say, a bridge linking Johor Bahru in Malaysia to Woodlands in Singapore, this is, one of the busiest border crossings in the world, they say, with more than three hundred thousand road and rail travelers daily, I also get to know.