Overland Run - Part 5

The quality of travel information in Laos varies. It mainly depends on how recent it is, the borders of four of it’s neighbours opening and closing sporadically. It depends more on the personal safety of travellers than international relations and a spot of banditry can involve border closures as a cheaper option to hunting down the bandits. Difficult when unpaid local police or even soldiers may be involved.

Max wandered down to the guest houses and made inquires, Cambodia was definitely closed people said, there had been intermittent fighting between Khmer forces and an unknown group east of Kratie. Former Khmer Rouge fighters were suspected but probably just starving farmers. The Chinese and Vietnamese borders were open but Max disliked the suddenness of justice to drug traffickers there. Too many honest policemen left over from the old days when Communism was God. That left Myanmar and Thailand. Max knew little of Myanmar; Burma he called it, the same as the Thais did- the Burmese were their old enemies, the same as the French were of the English, the Greeks of the Turks. Now they smiled at each other with weasel’s teeth and kept their hand on the knife in the back of their pants.

So it was back to Thailand, Noi the beggar would get him to people who would take him across the river and he would run overland to the Malaysian border. He would stamp his passport himself, not that it would matter if he was pulled up. Getting into Malaysia would be easy there was just the small matter of avoiding the Thai police; some of whom would  have a photo of Max in their shirt pocket by now.  With a promise of a slice of the money that the drugs would bring.  That would mean that his first stop would have to be a place where fat aging Farangs were the norm. Where else but Pattaya?

Walking back towards the Samlo Pub, as indecisive as usual, he saw Da at  the next door restaurant. She was sitting with big Deng and Ting, the cook at the Samlo. Ting was one of his former apartment visitors, a good plain Farang cook she had been taught by an Australian who turned up out of nowhere before Max’s time and disappeared a year later. Paul had suspected that he was a former Pattaya papa-san who had fled a few hours ahead of an audit of the books. Now probably gone to Phnom Penh where new bars were beginning to open. Max had spent time there and had never seen anyone answering the cook’s description. A bad place for the light fingered, Phnom Penh.

Deng greeted him happily, offering an imaginative description of his and Da’s reunion the night before and expressing the hope that they had had at least one for her. Enjoying the old banter Max informed her that there was one for her anytime she wanted it, preferably more than one. Laughing he joined them and asked Da if she fancied a trip to Pattaya. Stymied by the unexpected offer, she did the Lao thing with difficult questions and ignored it completely. Max wisely never persevered and changed the subject to the old topic of “has anyone heard from Paul and Dang”. Not a peep, they had sold up and gone to Udon Ratchathami where Dang had a house for her Mother.Before long Va arrived, eager to see Max and after the reunion they headed for the main street for lunch, breakfast for the girls. Always fer, the noodle soup Max had eaten under a dozen different names from Bali to Loung Prabang, Saigon to Zamboanga, always the same format, noodles in meat stock laden with what ever was cheap and fresh at the market that morning. The main difference regionally being the tray of condiments,  chilli powder, crushed peanuts, sugar and various sauces. Da ordered extra coriander leaf for Max and watched him add fish sauce and a little fresh chilli in rice vinegar. The girls ladled everything on with impunity.

Anyone who claims to be an experienced traveller in South East Asia can easily have his credentials checked by asking him what the womenfolk show the greatest enthusiasm for. The guys who haunt the bars will say things like sex and money or, closer to the truth, children- particularly boy babies. Max didn’t doubt for a moment that it was food. Sure there were things more important, money, sex and children, but food was what really mattered to them. He could lose all interest in eating just watching the girls eat, they would devote themselves to a feast, if it was offered, with unrivalled enthusiasm; left to their own devices they would send out for snacks all day, a sliced green mango with salt and chilli, a plastic bag full of soup to be tipped into a bowl and shared with the same spoon passed around the table, a handful of larp, the fiery ground meat salad of Laos and the northern provinces of Thailand with a bag of sticky rice eaten with the fingers. If there was too much food they would sleep and eat again. Bodies storing energy for the seasons when the rains may not come.

Max headed for the market, the Talart Sao- supreme among Asian markets and, after browsing the bottom floor through force of habit and nostalgia, bought a colourful piece of woven string. Feet aching he got a tuktuk back to the hotel and strangely not feeling the need for alcohol slept till Da returned. He took the gold chain off his neck, two baht in weight, nearly an ounce of pure gold, removing the gold encased ancient Buddha amulet and gave the chain to Da. The gold would give her enormous face amongst her friends, easily replaceable it had no sentimental value but could be redeemed for cash anywhere. The amulet was a different story, centuries old it had saved the live of his Thai wife’s great uncle, shot three times at point blank range in the mountains of the Golden Triangle. Surviving he had ordered the original silver Buddha encased in gold out of gratitude and his nephews daughter had passed it down to Max. Showing it to Da, no need to explain anything there she recognised it’s power immediately, he placed it on the string and let her tie it around his neck. Time enough for new gold chains later.

Da was in two minds or more about going to Pattaya with Max; she wanted Frank to come to her so she could milk him for all he was worth for the family. If he saw Max with her he may give up, baby and all. Max by this stage was well into plan B and never pushed the issue suggesting a return to the river front where he could buy a Bangkok Post and read the news with a couple of bottles of Beer Lao, the best way to spend the late afternoon in Vientiane. With the sun going down like a great red ball through the smoke of the burning rice stubble in Thailand over the river.

Noi appeared like a wizened black spider; working the lever of his redeemed three-wheel cart to propel himself a long. Max jokingly offered him a thousand kip and laughed when he turned his head away in contempt, Noi never accepted anything under five thousand from anybody. Clad in new shirt and jeans Max noted that he was comparatively clean by yesterdays standard’s. A pair of jeans lasted Noi a week, the toughest denim soon gave up the fight against constantly being dragged on the footpath. Clothes cost money but food was plentiful for all in Vientiane, the street kids hung around the food stalls late at night, begging for leftovers. Max remembered a girl of about six who ran with a gang of children around the same age. She had pale blonde hair and fair skin through the dirt; some German’s daughter, sired in a moment of passion and her existence never suspected by her father. Max suspected that she would be carefully watched until she approached puberty then kidnapped and sold in a nearby country where blonde hair was prized. The leader of the gang had been a girl about eight who collected everybody’s takings at the end of the day and bought food for the unit. Max had walked past them one night after what had obviously been a good day’s begging and surreptitiously watched as the older girl shared out ice creams and small plastic bags of soft drink amongst the tiny homeless children sitting in an eager circle.

Noi accepted Max’s invitation to join him and took a glass of beer, imperiously ordering ice from the disgruntled waiter. Sure he could get Max to people who would take him across the river, anything for a friend. The charge would be minimal but he would have to pay a tuktuk to take him into Nong Kai and make sure that it was sufficient to keep the driver’s mouth shut about him. A group of K’toei walked past greeting Max and Da, they were friends with the Lao girls who considered them fellow women, trapped in male bodies. Very much accepted in all levels of Thai and Lao society Max had seen them dancing in religious processions many times. They flirted with Mac briefly, offering massage with all the trimmings and laughed when he politely refused. Like drugs they were another bad habit that he did not need.  They moved on to cruise the riverfront, their customers generally alone and lurking in the shadows, men too ashamed to mix with homosexuals in their own country they came to Asia to patronise the slim brown boys who had no concept of sexual shame. Some stayed and enjoyed the lifestyle as well, Max had seen a man his age in the Chiang Rai market one afternoon happily telling a young Thai man what he would cook for him that night and showing him the fresh carefully selected vegetables.

They walked back to the hotel, Da wouldn’t have cared if he held her hand but Max was wise in the ways of Asia, knowing that the older people would find it offensive.  He had been happy with her before and had enjoyed being with her this time but realised that any permanent renewal would be trying to cook on cold ashes. He remembered reading a quote somewhere that said that love was like a good cigar, you could let it go out and relight it but it never tasted quite the same. Da said she had to stay in Lao, her Mother was ill; Max knew that the only way the old battleaxe would get sick was if she dropped a handful of cards on her toe. He had admonished Da once for giving her money and Da had turned to him and said, “sure, Max, she not  good woman but she my Mama and when she dead I don’t have”. Her father had died when she was young and the family had lived a hand to mouth existence until Da had gone to work in the bar.

Entering the hotel room they surprised two men in the process of emptying Max’s case onto the floor and raking through his belongings. His first thought was that they were police but when one produced a knife he knew that they were thieves trying to rip off the dope. Relieved, he picked up the rooms only chair and when they took a step back flung it through the window, shattering it and cascading glass into the street. Horrified they halted their assault and Max grinned and showed them the door. As they left Da came out of her initial shock and showered them with Lao invective and blows from the umbrella she had brought with her the day before, following them down the corridor as they fled from her improving aim. Definitely time to head south thought Max who had put the drugs into a new bag that morning and booked into another hotel as Da slept. He replaced his belongings and bid her farewell. She could handle any police inquiry and pay the hotel for he damage, he could hear the reception staff running up the stairs now, the would be thieves obviously having left by the back door they had forced to enter by. He walked quickly but inconspicuously to the river picking up his other bag on the way and paying the bill.  Noi was waiting with a tuktuk and they drove west through the old town and finally stopped at a small dock where a six meter punt laden with farm produce waited, the boatmen indicating Max to hurry. He held out a hundred US to the crippled man but Noi turned his head away; begging was one thing but taking money for helping friends was another. Marvelling Max boarded the boat causing it to lurch dangerously and he sat, half fell, onto a pile sharp skinned jackfruit.

Minutes later he was in Thailand negotiating the fare into Nong Khai with a smirking tuktuk driver.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.