What I did on my Holiday

‘Zoe,’ I say. ‘You know what goes on over here, right? Imean, the prostitution and all. What do you make of it?’ She looks at me then, keeping her finger on her place. ‘Seri-ously?’ she asks. ‘Seriously.’ She shrugs. ‘If a woman wants to make money that way, Idon’t see what right anyone has to stop her. After all, it’s herbody, right?’ ‘Maybe,’ I say hesitantly, ‘But…I mean…would you do it?’ For a moment she doesn’t answer, but I see her body stiffenand her face, when she turns to me again, is hard and angry. ‘Is that what you think I am? You think just because I letyou buy me breakfast and pay for the room, just because yougave me a…a…a fucking bracelet…’ She grabs the slim silver chain of tortoises and tries towrench it from her wrist, but Thai workmanship appears to bebetter than I would have suspected. The chain holds firm andher hand swings wildly and fetches up against the edge of thestall. ‘Ow!’ she yelps, and sucks her knuckles, glaring at me fromunder her fringe. ‘Zoe, you know that’s not what I meant. Or if you don’t,you should do. If I’d thought you were a prostitute I wouldn’tbe with you. I’ve spent enough time keeping them at bay inPattaya without jumping into bed with one in Bangkok.’ The fire goes out of her eyes then and she looks at me withopen curiosity. ‘You didn’t sleep with any women in Pattaya?’she asks incredulously. ‘Why not?’ I think about Linda, but decide the question only referred toprostitutes. ‘You sound surprised. Did you assume I had?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘But weren’t you afraid of catching something from me?AIDS or something. If I’d slept with a prostitute, God knows 150

what I might have passed on to you.’ She looks more amused than anything else. ‘Come on,’ shesays. ‘You don’t look that stupid. You’d use a condom, right?So it’s safe.’ ‘But is it?’ I say. ‘Is it completely safe? Do you know forsure?’ She looks uncertain. ‘I’m pretty sure,’ she says, then shrugs.‘But you didn’t sleep with any, did you? So no problem.’ ‘But how do you know I’m telling you the truth? You’veonly just met me. I could be lying.’ ‘Jesus! You do like to make things complicated, don’t you.Of course you’re not lying. You’re not the type. Now shut upand let me concentrate. Do you like…’ I shut up and let her concentrate. ‘Oh my God,’ look at those!’ ‘Zoe! You can’t be hungry. We ate less than an hour ago.’ ‘I don’t want to eat. I just want to look. Oh, how gross!’ The food stall is like any other, a round metal containerabout three feet in diameter, filled with glowing charcoal.The whole thing is mounted on a tricycle, with a dirty parasolabove to keep things dry. But the food is different, about asdifferent as you could get. ‘They’re maggots!’ Zoe cries. ‘Yeeuch!’ ‘And what about those. Locusts. Fried locusts!’ ‘Actually, I think they’re stick insects,’ Zoe says doubtfully. ‘Oh, well that’s all right then. Stick insects. Whole differentball game.’ ‘I don’t believe it,’ she gasps, pointing to a row of littleblack shapes at the other end of the stall. ‘Those can’t be real.’ ‘What? Where? Bloody Hell!’ Scorpions. Black and danger-ous looking, even in death. ‘Do you think they’re real?’ 151

‘They must be,’ I say. ‘He’d hardly be selling plastic ones,would he?’ ‘Buy one.’ ‘You want to eat a scorpion?’ ‘You try one. I’ll just have a little bit.’ ‘No way. If you want one you can have it, but there’s noway I’m eating any.’ As we wrangle back and forth, a party of young peoplearrive alongside us. I listen in amusement as they go throughthe same ritual we played out a few minutes ago. Then oneyoung man, a long haired hippy type with wide flared jeansand an embroidered waistcoat, steps forward and points atthe scorpions, raising one finger to the little man who waitspatiently behind his wares. The scorpion is placed in a little paper bag, one end project-ing, and money changes hands. ‘You’re not really going to eat that thing, Jeremy?’ one ofthe girls asks. ‘Sure,’ the young man says with casual insouciance. ‘Whynot? You have to be open to new culinary experiences.’ ‘You eat that,’ the girls warns, ‘and you’re not getting intobed with me tonight.’ ‘What’s the matter? Afraid it’ll put a sting in my tail?’ Hethrusts the bag towards the girl and she screams and beats himaway with her fists. ‘Come on,’ I say to Zoe. ‘Let’s wander.’ ‘No. I want to see this.’ The young man hears her and grins. ‘Want to try a bit?’ hesays. ‘Okay,’ Zoe says promptly, and the circle close around heras she takes the proffered bag. ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ I mutter as she inspectsthe insect, apparently looking for a way in. Cooked, it looks 152

little different from when it was alive. The skin is dark andleathery, the tail curled tightly, the whole thing looking likeit’s made out of beads of dark glass. Zoe taps its back with afingernail, then finds an edge and begins to peel back the toughskin. She holds the animal up to her mouth and tugs with evenwhite teeth, and the skin comes away. Inside it’s green. Shenibbles delicately at the revealed flesh. Everyone holds their breath. ‘How is it?’ someone asks. ‘And don’t tell me it tastes likechicken!’ ‘No,’ Zoe says thoughtfully. ‘It’s bitter. Very bitter.’ Shegives a little shudder. ‘The skin is very hard. You have to peelit off with your teeth. But there’s not much meat inside.’ ‘Let me try,’ one of the other young men demands, embold-ened I suppose by Zoe’s continuing survival. ‘D’you want some Mike?’ Zoe offers. ‘No thanks. I don’t feel the need to prove my machismo, ormy insanity, or whatever it is you prove by eating dead poison-ous insects. I’ll pass.’ ‘She’s a brave girl,’ the young man in the waistcoat says,nodding at Zoe. ‘You were going to eat it too,’ Zoe points out. ‘No I wasn’t,’ he grins. ‘I just bought it for a laugh. But I’mnot crazy enough to eat the damn thing.’ ‘Are you really an accountant, Mike?’ ‘Yep, Im afraid so.’ We’re sitting in a bar by the roadside, idly watching thenever ending parade of people shuffling past. A few feet away,a young girl is having her hair braided at a roadside stallwhere, an hour earlier, I paid for Zoe to have her hair dyedbright red. I still haven’t got used to it, but Zoe is so delightedwith her new look that I keep any doubts I have to myself. 153

‘But why?’ she goes on. ‘Aren’t accountants meant to be,like, just the most boring people on the planet?’ ‘We have that reputation.’ ‘But you’re not like that. You’re a pretty cool guy. Chilled,you know? What?’ ‘It’s just no-one’s ever called me chilled before. I rather likeit.’ ‘You know what I mean though. You don’t come across likean accountant.’ ‘Perhaps that’s because I’m not a very good one,’ I say.‘Oh, I don’t mean I can’t add up or anything like that. It’s justthat…well, I don’t feel like an accountant. I never have. I feellike I’m always playing a part, pretending to be something I’mnot. If I’m honest, I don’t think I should ever have becomeone.’ ‘So why did you?’ ‘My mother. She was a bookkeeper. Her bosses were allaccountants and she thought they were the next thing to Gods.She absolutely revered them, the money they earned, their bighouses, flash company cars. They had everything she wantedbut didn’t have.’ ‘So why didn’t she become one herself?’ ‘It was different back then. This was before Women’s Liband equal opportunities and all that stuff. I imagine there werea few female accountants, but not like today. More than fiftypercent of qualified accountants today are female. But backthen, it was the exception rather than the rule. Besides, shedidn’t have the education. She came from a poor family. Shewas bright enough, had a very sharp mind, but they couldn’tafford to send her to a decent school. So she transferred herambition to my father.’ ‘What was he like? Do you take after him?’ ‘In character, yes, I think so. I’ve never been ambitious like 154

my mother. My dad was a really nice, gentle guy, you know?I don’t think he ever raised his voice in his life. My mum usedto bully him. She wanted him to go out and climb the ladder ofsuccess that was closed to her, but he just didn’t have it in him.Oh, he had a good mind, but he was more of an artistic type.He loved to read and listen to music. He was a dreamer.’ ‘What did he do? Paint? Write?’ ‘No. Nothing like that. He never got the chance. My motherconsidered all those sorts of things to be a waste of time andenergy. Work was the only thing that mattered to her. Earningmoney, building a career. She pushed my dad into one unsuit-able job after another, and he failed at them all. Never roseabove junior management level. In the end she gave up onhim. Then it was my turn to fulfil her dreams. I became anaccountant because she wanted me to.’ ‘I guess she’s proud of you, huh?’ ‘Oddly enough, no. Jealous, more like. I know it soundsstrange but, even though it was she who pushed me, when Iactually succeeded, she resented it. She regularly tells me thatI don’t deserve my success. It should have been hers. If she’dhad my opportunities, she’d have risen higher and faster, etc,etc. And she’s probably right. I’m more like my dad. I justdon’t care about money all that much.’ ‘So why did you stick it? Why not just get out and do some-thing you prefer?’ ‘My wife. I met her at college. I suppose, looking back, Ican see now that she took over where my mother left off. Shewas studying Law and I was studying Accountancy. She qual-ified before I did. It seems she was always looking over hershoulder and telling me to catch up.’ ‘Jesus. Mike. You make yourself sound like a wimp, lettingwomen push you around all the time.’ ‘Maybe I was. But it wasn’t just women. Helen’s dad was 155

an accountant. Senior partner of his own firm. He wantedHelen to follow in his footsteps but she preferred Law. Sohe got a son-in-law instead. I joined the firm straight fromcollege. If I’d still been there, I’d have been a partner by now.It was on the cards just before I left.’ ‘So why’d you leave? Don’t tell me! You decided to chuckit all in, run off to Thailand and become a bum!’ ‘Nothing so romantic. My wife left me. Found someonemore successful than me. Then my father-in-law called meinto his office and explained that, for everyone’s sake, it wouldbe better if I left the firm. Save embarrassment, you know?’ ‘Shit. So you lost your wife and your job in one go. That’stough. So what did you do?’ ‘I moved to Brighton. You know where that is?’ She shakes her head. ‘It’s a town on the south coast ofEngland,’ I tell her. ‘Seaside town. Kiss-me-quick hats andall that stuff. But it’s also very Bohemian. Lots of artists andwriters live there. It seemed the place to make a fresh start.’ ‘So you got out of accountancy?’ I wince. ‘Not that fresh a start. No, I took the first account-ing job that came along. Not a very good one. It pays a lot lessthan my old job, but I can do it standing on my head. It leavesme time and energy for other things.’ ‘Like…?’ ‘Ah. That’s the problem. I haven’t found much to do withall the time and energy. Mostly I read. I read a lot.’ ‘Jesus Mike, that’s terrible. It’s time you took a grip on lifeand did something you really want to do. Travel, write a book,anything, just so long as it’s what you really want to do.’ I shake my head sadly. ‘That’s the real problem. I don’tknow what I want to do. Even this holiday…I didn’t chooseto come to Thailand. I just went with the flow, took the easyoption. I was talked into coming by a little rat who had his 156

own agenda.’ I tell her briefly about Benny and the boys, and she shakesher head in disbelief. ‘Mike, we’re going to have to do something with you. Wereally are.’ ‘Come on sleepy head, rise and shine.’ ‘Uuurghhh, what’s up?’ ‘It’s time to get up.’ ‘But it’s still dark. What time is it?’ ‘Five a.m. We need to be out of here by five thirty, so getout of bed and take a shower. I need to have one after you, sodon’t hang about.’ ‘Are you serious? Why the fuck are we getting up at fivea.m.?’ ‘We’re going to the floating market. Farmers rise with thedawn, so we have to too.’ ‘Floating market? When did we agree on that one?’ ‘I made an executive decision. Last night. That’s why wewent to bed early.’ ‘I thought that was because you wanted to have sex.’ ‘That too. Now quick bitching and get in that shower. Ifyou’re still tired, you can sleep on the bus.’ ‘Twenty minutes isn’t going to do me any good. I needanother three hours.’ ‘You’re in luck then. That’s how long the trip takes.’ ‘Three hours? You’re joking. How far is this place?’ ‘A hundred kilometres, thereabouts.’ ‘Oh God. Three hours on a bus. And then three hours backagain. This is madness.’ ‘Quit grumbling and get up. I’m serious. If you don’t get upI’ll go without you.’ I hear the implied threat in her voice: ‘…and I may not 157

come back.’ Reluctantly I roll out of bed and head for the shower. Thecool water clears my head and I begin to think more clearly.As I dress, I ask her: ‘How did you pay for the tickets?’ ‘I didn’t. We have to pay on the bus.’ I nod. ‘Listen, I’m just going to nip out for a minute. Ineed cigarettes. I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready,okay?’ I don’t wait to hear her reply. Ten minutes later, we step out of our hotel. The Khao SanRoad is the quietest I’ve seen it. There’s hardly anyone about.A few neon signs still glow, paling as the new light of daycreeps in. Zoe starts off in one direction but I stop her with ahand on her elbow and gently draw her back the other way. ‘Where are we going?’ she says. ‘We don’t have time formessing about.’ I stop beside the taxi I hired while she was in the shower.‘Your carriage awaits madam,’ I say, opening the door. ‘Mike, what are you doing?’ Zoe demands. ‘I made one of those executive decisions you’re so fond of.I hired this chap to take us to the floating market.’ ‘We can’t go in a taxi! It’s a hundred kilometres. It’ll costthe earth.’ ‘My treat.’ I slip into the rear seat, leaving the door open forher. ‘Hurry up. All the cold air is getting out.’ She sticks her angry face into the open doorway. ‘And don’t bother arguing,’ I say, before she can speak. ‘Ifyou don’t get in right now, I’ll go without you.’ By ten o’clock I’m feeling pretty good. I sit in the prow ofour boat, smoking a cigarette and watching Zoe sip a can ofSingha beer, while our boatman takes us round some of theback streets of this strange water town. 158

The place is much bigger than I’d expected, and oddlysuburban. A whole community live here, in waterside bambooand concrete houses. I suppose I’d expected something a bitmore exotic, like the floating villages you see in films of HongKong, and to be fair, the main drag was a bit like that. Lots oflittle gnarled old ladies in cane hats with boats piled high withfresh fruit and veg. But the tourist trade was well represented too, with lots ofstalls lining the water selling cheap and nasty Panama hats andother crud to the tourists who float by, providing them with acaptive clientele. After half an hour, we’d had enough of thecommercialism and Zoe asked our boatman if we could see therest of the place. So here we are, purring gently down a wide water road thatwouldn’t look out of place in Venice, save for the palm trees.We’ve left the crowds behind and it’s nice to just lay in theprow and watch the scenery go by. Zoe is like a child on holiday. Somehow she managesto balance cross legged on the narrow plank that forms thecentral seat. As the boat picks up speed down the wide thor-oughfare, her hair billows behind her like a red cape lookingfor a bull. Her eyes close and her face becomes serene. For the first time it occurs to me that she has a lovely face.Not beautiful, but lovely nonetheless. * 159

16 ‘Mike? Would you mind if we left here tomorrow and wenttrekking?’ ‘I thought you wanted to see Bangkok?’ ‘I do. But we could see it afterwards. On the way back.’ I consider this for a moment. I still haven’t made my mindup about the trekking. Zoe seems to have just assumed thatwe’ll go together, but I’m not so sure. I don’t think trekking ismy sort of thing. Seeing my hesitation, she misinterprets it. ‘I know it’s messing you around, but you see, my period’sdue soon. I don’t want to have it while I’m in the jungle, youunderstand? If we go now, we’ll be back here within a week.’ ‘Okay,’ I tell her, swallowing down my misgivings. ‘Sure,why not? How do we get there?’ ‘We take a train to Chiang Mai, then we book onto a trekthere. It’s pretty well organised.’ ‘A train? Well, at least it’s not another bus.’ ‘We’ll need a sleeper. The journey takes about sixteenhours.’ ‘Jesus, how far is this place?’ ‘About four hundred miles.’ ‘But that’s only an average speed of…’ I do the quick calcu-lation in my head, ‘… about twenty five miles an hour! Whatsort of train is it? Thomas the Tank Engine?’ She giggles. ‘The lines aren’t too good,’ she says. ‘There’vebeen crashes. But it’s okay. We can go overnight. We’ll sleep 160

for most of the journey. ‘ ‘Can’t we just fly?’ ‘Expensive,’ she says. ‘About forty pounds each return. Thetrain costs six.’ ‘But I don’t mind…’ ‘Mike! Please….we’ve been through this before.’ ‘Okay,’ I sigh, ‘Thomas it is then.’ I’m learning something about backpacking. It’s not justwhere you go, it’s how you get there. Backpackers are verykeen on finding the cheapest possible way to cover longdistances. But cheap means slow. And it means hassle, as I’mbeginning to find out. I already had my reservations about a sixteen hour journey,but I hadn’t counted on all the time wasted at either end:buying the tickets, getting to the station, waiting for the train,finding a guest house at the other end. Against Zoe’s strenuous objections, I insisted on travelingFirst Class, but in the event all the First Class seats were taken.That meant Second Class sleeper. In First you got a chair to sitin during daylight hours and a bunk for night-time. In SecondClass, you just got the bunk, fine for sleeping, but not too goodfor sitting and reading. I didn’t complain though. I’d seensome of the other carriages on our way though the train and Iwouldn’t have swapped places with the people in Fourth Classfor all the tea in China. Zoe found a friend in a charming Indian gentleman andspent many hours chatting with him about his home country. Itseems she’s spent several months there. When I tired of listen-ing to their reminiscences, I wandered out into the corridor andfound a place to perch in the open space between carriages.With my feet dangling out into space and the landscape cruis-ing by at a sedate thirty miles an hour, I let my mind drift. The 161

countryside was vaguely interesting for about twenty minutes,but quickly exhausted my capacity for scenery watching. So Isat and smoked and swayed with the train and thought abouttrekking and wondered once more what I’d let myself in for. I’ve never been the type to enjoy camping. The thought oftents and sleeping bags and Calor gas stoves leaves me cold.I’m not addicted to luxury, but I don’t get why people find itfun to rough it. How does being uncomfortable make thingsmore enjoyable? Besides, I’m thirty two, and not a particularly fit thirty two.Accountants spend a lot of time sitting on chairs peering atcomputer screens. When I was married, Helen had alwaysmade sure I got some exercise. We belonged to a badmintonclub and played tennis in the summer. But the tennis and thebadminton left my life at the same time Helen did, and nothinghas filled the void. Despite Zoe’s assurances that people of allages went on these treks, many a lot older and less fit than I, Istill wasn’t convinced. At Chiang Mai station, we simply grab the first taxi, stateour price range and let our driver take us to a guest house ofhis recommendation, too tired to start sifting through guidebooks. The taxi drops us at a pretty little guest house with a flow-ered garden and a cool reception area, the floor lined withlarge ceramic tiles. I slip my sandals off and enjoy the cold onmy feet. ‘This is nice,’ Zoe says, admiring the large airy space. Com-fortable looking sofas are dotted here and there and a tabletennis table waits patiently in one corner. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But all I really care about right now is bed.’ ‘Can’t wait to get me in the sack, huh?’ she says, with a slygrin. 162

I hope she’s kidding. Before leaving our room in Bangkok, we had one last fuck.‘One for the road,’ as Zoe put it. ‘Don’t you mean one for the rails,’ I said, and she giggled. We’ve made love four or five times now in the space oftwo days and I think I’m just about shagged out. The truthis, I don’t find Zoe all that attractive, sexually. Her painfullythin body seems insufficient to hold my interest. I find myselfhaving to conjure up images of my wife or Anna to fuel mypassion. I’d quite happily give it a rest, but Zoe seems to havea much higher sex drive than me. Either that or she feels she’spaying me back for the train tickets and the meals by way ofsex. If that’s the case, she’s overpaying. I’d happily offer her adiscount. After the cool charm of the reception area, our room is a bitof a disappointment. It’s not much better than the one we’vejust left, only bigger and quieter. I’m beginning to understandthat the Thais, shrewd business people that they are, don’twaste money on anything but the essentials. A good lookingreception will tempt the punters in, but the bedrooms are no-frills affairs. After the long journey, I’m looking forward to a goodnight’s sleep and perhaps a day or two checking out the de-lights of Chiang Mai, but Zoe has other plans. ‘We need to book early,’ she tells me. ‘These treks set offonce or twice a week. We might have to wait days to get onone. We can’t afford to piss about.’ It’s early evening but my body clock is telling me it’s waypast my bedtime. The last thing I want to do is wander arounda strange town trying to book a trek. ‘But there must be loads of places organising treks,’ I pointout. ‘Someone’s bound to have something leaving in a day ortwo.’ 163

‘I’m not going with just any old outfit,’ she warns me.‘Some of them are real cowboys. I know the firm I want touse. They come very highly recommended by Lonely Planet.They say Charlie, he’s the head guide, is one of the best in thewhole of Thailand.’ ‘Oh, I see, ‘ I say rather sharply, the fatigue making mecrotchety. ‘We couldn’t simply fly up here, oh no, too expen-sive. But when it comes to guides, suddenly only the best isgood enough!’ ‘Don’t be a prat, Mike,’ she says coolly. ‘We’re going tobe a hundred miles from anywhere, out in the rainforest onthe Burmese border. One of us could break a leg and the onlyperson who’ll be able to help us is our guide. Do you want totrust your life to just anyone?’ I sigh. ‘No, I suppose not.’ ‘Good,’ she says, watching me closely, unsure that she’sdone a good enough job of convincing me. ‘Seriously, Mike.Where we’re going, it could be dangerous.’ ‘I get it,’ I say dryly. ‘It’s a jungle out there.’ * 164

PART 4CHIANG MAI 165

17 The truck that collects us from the guest house is a batteredJapanese pick-up with a canvas roof and two narrow woodenbenches in the back. Charlie, the guide who came so highlyrecommended, is driving. Next to him in the passenger seatsits a squat middle aged Thai woman, perhaps his wife, whowill drive the truck back after they drop us off. Charlie calls acheery hello and tells us to climb in the back. Four westerners and a young Thai man already occupy thetight space. The young Thai jumps out and lowers the tailgate.He gives us a shy smile and gestures for us to climb aboard.Clambering over the high sill, we duck below the canvasawning and move into the truck in a low crouch. The otheroccupants shuffle closer together to make room on one of thebenches. The young Thai slams the tailgate, the gearbox gratesloudly and the truck lurches away. We’re off. Immediately, the heat of the confined space hits me, thesweat starting to roll down my body inside my clothes. This isgoing to be no air-conditioned taxi ride. As the truck crawls through the suburbs of Chiang Mai, wemake our introductions. A large man with a round, jowly facetakes the lead. ‘Hi,’ he says. I’m Harry Price, and this is mywife Connie.’ ‘Hi,’ I say, ‘I’m Mike and this is Zoe.’ Harry is American, late middle aged, big and husky looking,with a loud voice and louder clothes. Connie is aerobic-slim 166

with soft blond hair cut in an attractive page boy style. She’sat least twenty years younger than her husband, twenty eight,perhaps, thirty at a push, and I peg her as the typical richman’s trophy wife. She appears to be dressed for a tennismatch. She gives me an enthusiastic smile that positively glows inthe dim interior of the truck and shakes my hand. ‘Hi Mike,’she says warmly. ‘It’s great to meet you.’ ‘And this here’s Jan and his wife…Elise, right?’ Harry goeson, waving a big hand at the other couple. ‘They’re Dutch.’ The young couple crammed against the back of the cablean forward and shake our hands. They’re both blonde andgood-looking in a rather bland way. Early twenties I’d guessand newly married. They’re wearing serious hiking gear andlook scarily fit. ‘You are English?’ Jan asks me in good but accentedEnglish and I nod. ‘Connie and me, we’re from Oklahoma,’ Harry informsus. ‘But you, little lady,’ he says, leaning towards Zoe. ‘Do Idetect an Antipodean accent?’ ‘I’m from Sidney,’ she says. ‘I knew it,’ Harry says, ‘Australian. I got a pretty good earfor an accent. Don’t I Connie?’ His wife smiles and nods dutifully but the look she givesZoe is not pretty. I wonder idly why women find it necessaryto hate one another on sight. Connie is easily the most beau-tiful woman in the truck but she’s also the oldest. I supposethat’s reason enough. The truck lurches to a sudden halt and the young Thai getsup to unlock the tailgate once more. ‘All aboard!’ Harry cries heartily. ‘Hope there ain’t toomany more, else we’ll need a bigger truck.’ ‘L’as one,’ the young Thai tells him as he hops out and 167

drops the tailgate. We all peer out into the bright sunshine, curious to see thefinal addition to our little group. Standing in the dusty road is a man in his mid twenties.His hair is dark-blond but individual strands are sun-bleachedalmost pure white. It hangs to his shoulders in long, scruffylooking dreadlocks. He has one of those beards that youngfair-haired men specialise in, thin and patchy, like the mothshave been at it. His clothes, combat trousers and a purple tee-shirt with a sun motif, have a weathered look about them thatsuggests they’ve been washed in a river and beaten on rocks.His backpack is old and worn looking, as though it’s travelleda million miles, and from it hangs a pair of furry dice, the typemy father’s generation used to have dangling from the rear-view mirrors of their cars. As we watch, he bows briefly to the young Thai man, handsheld together before his chest, finger tips pressed lightly to-gether. I recognize the gesture. It’s called the ‘wai’, the every-day formal greeting of Thais. Girls use it when welcoming youto a bar and several times I’ve been tempted to return it butalways felt too self-conscious. This young man doesn’t appear to suffer my trouble. I hearhim say ‘Sawadikrap’ which is one of the few Thai words I’vepicked up. It means ‘good day’ and the young Thai smileshappily and solemnly returns the greeting. They climb nimbly into the truck and we’re off once more,pulling out into traffic. Again Harry takes charge of the introductions. ‘I’m Harry Price,’ he booms,’ and this here’s my wifeConnie…’ ‘Sebastian,’ the man supplies in a soft, pleasant voice. ‘Sebfor short.’ He nods at each of us in turn as we shake handswith freely-sweating palms. 168

‘And last but by no means least, this young beauty is Zoe,all the way from Australia,’ Harry finishes and Sebastian giveshis little nod and smile. Zoe’s smile, I notice is a good deal broader as she replies,‘Hi Seb.’ Harry has finished but Seb is gazing at him expectantlyand an awkward moment descends on the little group. Seb isclearly waiting for something, but for the life of me I can’tthink what and neither, to judge from his discomfited expres-sion, can Harry. Finally, Seb reaches out his hand to the young Thai mansitting propped against the tailgate. ‘Seb,’ he offers, and theyoung Thai beams widely. ‘Por,’ he replies, taking the offeredhand. Everyone suddenly becomes animated, shaking Por’s handand repeating their names as though he hadn’t just sat andwatched us all introduced several times already. Sebastian isbusy stowing his pack beneath the bench but I notice a smallsmile crease the corner of his mouth. ‘So, where you from Seb?’ Harry asks, recovering from theembarrassing moment. ‘Here,’ the young man replies. Harry’s face creases with confusion. ‘Thailand?’ ‘Earth,’ Seb corrects him. The rest of us exchange quick glances. ‘Well, isn’t this exciting,’ Connie enthuses, treating us allto one of her dazzling smiles. ‘I’m just so looking forward togetting out of the city and into the real Thailand. Tonight we’llbe sleeping in an actual Thai village, surrounded by indige-nous people living the way they have for hundreds of years. Ijust can’t wait to get there, can you?’ The journey is long, hot and arduous. After fifteen minutes 169

we leave the outskirts of Chiang Mai behind and follow abroad, dusty road through scenery that quickly becomesboring: dried up fields, dusty palm trees, crude wooden shacksat the roadside, the odd mangy dog panting in the heat. Harry tells us a little more about himself: self-made man,owner of some sort of manufacturing company, father of twochildren, now grown and flown the nest. Connie is his secondwife. The Dutch couple take their turn next. Jan works for hisfather’s cigar company, Elise is a solicitor, junior partner ina small commercial practice in Amsterdam. They’ve beenmarried for six months. This is their belated honeymoon,delayed due to a family illness. Now it’s my turn, but there seems so little to say. Account-ant, divorced, owner of a cat. Here in Thailand as the result ofa mistake. Zoe repeats that she is from Sidney, Australia, studied Artand Design at University, which is news to me, and decided totake a year out to travel before starting work. That was almosttwo years ago. She’s visited thirteen countries so far and hasplenty more on her itinerary. ‘How long have you been in Thailand?’ Seb asks. ‘About six weeks. I was down on the islands, Ko Chang,Samui, a few other places.’ Seb nods as though he’s thoroughly familiar with all ofthem. ‘Where are you headed after this?’ he asks. ‘I don’t know,’ Zoe says breezily. ‘I thought I mightcross the border into Laos. Take a slow boat down to LuangPrabang. I hear it’s very chilled there.’ ‘It is,’ Sebastian confirms. ‘If you’re looking for a placeto stay, there’s a great guest house on the banks of theMekong…’ They’re off, two travellers discussing travel, and I feel 170

inadequate. I have nothing to add, at least nothing these twowould consider worthy of the conversation. I’ve been to Por-tugal, France, Italy, Germany, Switzerland and North America.Before I came to Thailand I considered myself reasonably welltravelled. Now I understand that I’ve been nowhere and seennothing. Sebastian, by contrast, appears to have been everywhere andseen everything. He and Zoe bounce place names back andforth like two rich investors comparing stocks and shares. Itquickly becomes apparent that even Zoe is a novice travellercompared to Sebastian. She’s keen to pick his brains and heseems happy to offer information and advice, talking quietly inhis soft voice, his accent hard to place, American possibly, orSouth African, while Zoe gazes at him as though he were somewise guru. The others have fallen into desultory conversations of theirown, though the stifling heat makes even talking feel like aneffort. I close my eyes and rest my head on the wall of thetruck, letting their voices flow over me. As I slip into a shallowsemi-sleep my last coherent thought is that Sebastian didn’tget his turn to tell us about himself. We’re an hour into the journey and I’m dying for a fag butthe atmosphere in here is already stifling. The wind whippingaround the truck flaps the canvas roof but the little that pene-trates the interior is thick with red dust. It would be selfish ofme to add cigarette smoke to the mix. ‘Anyone mind if I smoke?’ Seb asks, holding up a packet oftobacco and papers. The Dutch couple shake their heads doubtfully. Crammed asthey are against the rear of the cab they’re getting the worst ofthe heat but they’re also furthest away from Sebastian who issitting by the tailgate. 171

‘I don’t mind personally,’ Harry tells us, but…’ he looksdoubtfully at his wife. Connie casts a quick glance at Zoe and I, no doubt seekingsupport for her coming objection, but sees only nicotinehunger stamped on our faces. ‘Go ahead,’ she sighs, blowing her fringe away from hersweating forehead. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind directing yoursmoke towards the back of…’ ‘Sure,’ I say quickly, producing my Marlboro lights andoffering the pack to Zoe. ‘Thank Christ,’ Zoe moans softly and we shuffle closer tothe back of the vehicle. There simply isn’t room for three of us to lean out the backof the truck so I end up sitting on the metal floor. Belatedly Ithink to offer the pack to Por and he takes one with a smile.The situation is now impossible and I think we’re going tohave to smoke in relays but Por has the answer. Deftly heplaces a foot on the tailgate and swings himself outward andup until he is lying full length on the canvas roof above us. Hishead appears upside down and a brown arm reaches down toaccept Seb’s lighter. ‘Are you okay up there?’ Harry asks, his big face crumpledwith concern. Por grins. ‘Is cooler up here.’ ‘Won’t he fall off?’ Connie asks of no-one in particular. ‘I guess he knows what he’s doing,’ Harry answers doubt-fully. ‘I think he’s got the right idea,’ Seb says, standing up andgrabbing the roof frame. In a moment he’s gone, the roof overour heads bulging threateningly. ‘They’re mad,’ Connie breathes, and I find myself agreeingwith her. Zoe moves from her place beside me to take Sebastian’s 172

seat opposite. She gazes up at the bulging ceiling and I can seeshe wishes she could be up there too, though whether for thecooling breeze or the company I can’t say. Three long hours later, Charlie pulls the jeep into the sideof the road and switches the engine off. He jumps athleticallyfrom the cab and bangs the flat of his palm against the back ofthe vehicle. ‘Okay, okay!’ he cries. ‘We here.’ ‘Thank Christ for that,’ Harry mumbles and I think aboutadding an ‘Amen’ but can’t be arsed. I survey our little groupand see my own exhaustion reflected in the faces of the others.Everyone looks hot and crumpled, our clothes covered witha fine layer of red dust. One by one we rise from our bencheswith a series of groans and stretch our stiff limbs. Por drops the tailgate and reaches in to take our backpacks,placing them carefully on the red dirt beside his feet, beforeoffering a helping hand to Harry who is having serious troublegetting down from the high step. I think about the rigours ofthe three days that lie ahead and I seriously doubt Harry is upto it. I find myself imagining a scene like something from aVietnam war movie where they send in a helicopter to me-di-vac poor old Harry out of the jungle. ‘Okay, okay!’ Charlie shouts. ‘We go now.’ ‘Can’t we have a few more minutes to get our breath back?’Connie suggests. ‘We trekking,’ Charlie informs her with a smile. ‘Trekking,not shopping!’ The term rainforest proves deceptive. I’d been imagin-ing creeper-wrapped trees, monkeys swinging overhead andsnakes slithering between our feet. The reality is a little disappointing. 173

The trees are mostly broad leafed deciduous types. Manylook familiar though I personally couldn’t name a single oneof them. The canopy of branches above us, impenetrablelooking from a distance, proves to be quite thin when seenfrom below. The blue sky shows through and the sun arrives atground level sliced into bright slivers of light. We could almostbe in an English forest, except for the heat, the constant humof insects and the occasional call of some no-doubt exotic butnever seen bird. ‘Isn’t this magnificent?’ Connie breathes, throwing backher shoulders and breathing deeply, eyes shut and apparentlylost in the moment. I can’t help my own eyes straying to herbreasts which strain against the fabric of her little white top. Ilook quickly away and find Sebastian watching me. He givesme one of his quiet smiles and nods off to my left. I turn in thatdirection and find Zoe staring at me, her face thunderous. Shit! Now their feelings are mutual. Connie hates Zoebecause she’s younger, Zoe hates Connie because she’s got 36DD tits. It’s going to be an interesting couple of days. We’re following a clearly-defined path through the forest,a narrow strip of red soil winding it’s way through the mod-erately dense undergrowth. Though easy to follow, the pathis slippery from the morning’s rain and our silent march ispunctuated every now and then by a plaintive cry as one of ourparty loses their footing. Most of us display a broad streak ofred mud on our backsides. We march in single file with Charlie leading the way andPor bringing up the rear. Charlie speaks pretty good English. He would appear to bein his thirties and tells us he’s been leading treks for ten years.He’s small and wiry with huge calf muscles and strong lookingforearms. His face is badly pock-marked, but his teeth showbright and even when he smiles, which he does almost contin- 174

uously. With Charlie in charge, I feel safe. Por is young, about nineteen, and very quiet. He’s still inhis first year of trekking and it’s easy to see he hero-worshipsCharlie. He looks a likely lad, with a finely muscled body thathe seems to enjoy displaying at every opportunity. He speakslittle English but smiles even more than Charlie. He seemseager to help in any way he can. ‘Okay people,’ Charlie shouts. ‘Let’s keep moving. We trek-king, not shopping!’ He giggles happily and picks up the pace. When we started out, after three hours in the back of thetruck, my joints were stiff and complaining but now, with acouple of kilometres behind us, I’ve found my second windand my muscles are nicely warmed up. I’m beginning to enjoymyself. Zoe walks in front of me, and every now and then I raise myeyes from examining the greasy path to admire her slim back-side moving inside her shorts. We haven’t talked much sincewe set out. The path is too narrow for walking side by side,and shouting back and forth over our shoulders quickly provedtiring so we walk in silence, just the trudge of our boots forcompany. Since my ill-considered glance at Connie’s boobs Zoe hasbeen very cool towards me. I note she’s moved forward so thatshe’s walking behind Sebastian. Coincidence, I don’t think. Charlie has stepped aside for a moment and stands at theside of the track as we pass him one by one. As I arrive besidehim he stops me with a hand on my elbow. ‘Look,’ he says, pointing at my trousers. ‘You got leech.’ The others cluster around to stare at my legs in horror. Buteven the leeches, it transpires, are disappointing. Not the fat,black, slug-like creatures I’ve seen in movies. Black they are,but small and slim as worms. They cling to the cloth of my 175

trousers by their heads, their bodies sticking out like miniaturewind-socks. ‘How do we get them off?’ I say. I vaguely rememberreading somewhere that leeches have to be burned off with alighted cigarette. ‘Like this,’ Charlie says, and brushes them off with a casualwave of his bush hat. ‘Oh. Okay.’ The party reforms after the minor excitement and we moveon down the narrow trail. We arrive at a little clearing and Charlie calls: ‘Okay, werest now.’ We flop gratefully to the ground, shrugging out of ourpacks and digging out water bottles. I sit next to Zoe thoughshe offers no encouragement. I break out the fags and holdthe pack out to her by way of a peace offering. She takes onewithout meeting my gaze. ‘How are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Fine,’ she replies shortly, then, for form’s sake, adds, ‘Howabout you?’ ‘Fine,’ I echo and silence falls between us. The party has automatically broken up into pairs, eachcouple sitting together, chatting and sharing bars of chocolateand other snacks. The two guides sit a little distance apart,squatting on their heels, chattering in Thai, discussing usperhaps, or maybe just chatting about life, women and Thaiboxing. That leaves Sebastian as the odd man out. I watch him nowas he wanders over and joins the two guides, squatting downbeside them and joining in the conversation. He chats easilywith them, talking with his hands. ‘What do you think of the others?’ I ask Zoe. ‘Harry’s all right. Shame about that bitch wife of his.’ 176

‘You don’t like Connie?’ ‘She’s Barbie on Zanex,’ she says with contempt. ‘Jan and Elise seem nice enough.’ ‘Sure, boring…but nice.’ ‘They look very fit. Jan was telling me they hike a lot.’ ‘You can tell,’ Zoe says,’ Just look at those thighs. She couldcrush walnuts between her knees.’ I’m seeing a new side of Zoe. Where has the easy going, fungirl gone? I just hope she’s coming back, or it’s going to be along three days. ‘What about Sebastian?’ I ask. She nods. ‘Seb is cool. He’s been everywhere. Done it all.He’s my sort of guy.’ A very long three days! * 177

18 We can see the village long before we get there. It lies in apool of trees set in the crease of a little valley. On either side,the forest has been cut back and the land cultivated. ‘That where we stay tonight,’ Charlie tells us. ‘So soon?’ Jan asks. ‘But we have only been walking for...’he checks his watch ‘…three and one half hours. ‘ ‘Long enough for me,’ Harry observes. ‘First day easy.’ Charlie says. ‘Second day, much harder.Tomorrow we walk long way.’ ‘Oh good,’ Harry mutters. He scans the surrounding hillslike a prospective buyer. ‘Those fields,’ he says to Charlie.‘Are those cash crops?’ I can see Charlie is thrown by the term ‘cash crops’. I’mabout to explain when Sebastian gets there first. ‘The food they grow,’ he says to Charlie, enunciating eachword clearly, ‘Do they sell it? Or eat it?’ He makes eatingmotions with his hands. ‘Ah,’ Charlie says. ‘No sell. Eat.’ ‘And what precisely do they grow here?’ Harry asks. ‘Thatfield over there, for instance. I don’t seem to recognise thecrop.’ ‘Opium,’ Charlie says, and Harry looks startled. ‘Opium? You’re kidding. I thought opium was illegal inThailand.’ ‘Shhhh!’ Charlie says, pressing his finger to his lips. ‘Is 178

secret.’ He grins mischievously. ‘My God,’ Connie says. ‘You mean we’re expected to staythe night with drug dealers?’ ‘Not deal,’ Charlie reassures her. ‘Only grow enough forvillage. Not sell any.’ ‘It’s very exposed,’ Sebastian observes. ‘Don’t they need tohide it? Aren’t they worried someone will spot it from the air?’ Charlie shakes his head. ‘Government send soldiers to findopium field. They not bother with this. Only small field. Isokay if only for village. Many soldier, they come from villagejus’ like this. No want make trouble.’ His face becomes stern and he wags a finger in the air. ‘Butnot okay if sell. Then, big trouble.’ It takes us another half hour to reach the village. We trooptiredly into the central square, a large irregular oblong of sun-baked red dirt where a dozen children are kicking a footballaround. They stop playing and watch us curiously as Charliedirects us to a long wooden table that stands outside one ofthe houses. It has benches attached to either side, like a picnictable, and a thatched roof to provide shade. ‘You wait here,’ he says. ‘I go find head man.’ Harry is struggling with his pack and I help him, tugging thestraps down his fleshy arms. ‘Thanks, son,’ he puffs, his facered and sweaty. ’Oh my aching shoulders!’ I notice Connie having trouble too and I can see theproblem: one of the buckles on her pack has tangled with herbra strap. I pretend not to notice. I’m not going anywhere nearthose tits with Zoe around. Fortunately Sebastian comes to herrescue and one by one we slip onto the benches and into theblessed shade of the thatched roof. ‘It is good to be out of the sun,’ Jan says, ‘Very hot.’ ‘You got that right,’ Harry moans. ‘Christ what wouldn’t I 179

give for a nice cool beer.’ ‘I’d settle for a hot shower and a martini,’ Connie says.‘Where d’you suppose the bathroom is?’ I look doubtfully around the square. It’s surrounded on allsides by huts of various sizes. The lower part of each buildingappears to be made of whitewashed breeze block, the upperpart from woven bamboo, the whole topped with palm thatch.I’d expected something more primitive but even these func-tional buildings don’t look like they house bathrooms withrunning hot water. I think Connie has more chance of gettingher martini than a hot shower but I decide not to be the one tobreak the news. ‘I don’t know,’ I mutter. ‘Guess we’d better wait untilCharlie gets back.’ Connie seems content to suffer her discomfort for anotherfew minutes. She turns her attention to the village childrenwho stand like little statues in the hot sun, watching us asthough expecting us to do something interesting. ‘Aren’t they just the sweetest thing you ever saw,’ shebreathes. ‘Just look at them, the little darlings. They don’t evenhave shoes on their feet. How awful.’ ‘Do not worry,’ Jan tells her. ‘Their feet, they become verytough. Like the leather.’ Zoe waves to them and they giggle and wave shyly back.‘Hi there,’ she calls and they giggle again. One boy getspushed forward by his friends but resists strenuously, finallyaiming an ineffectual blow at the tallest of his tormentors. Thelittle group appears to lose interest in us then, and momentslater the interrupted match is underway once more. I watch the kids charging around in the hot sun. They weara strange mixture of traditional and modern clothes, sarongswith sweatshirts and shorts, all dust covered and ragged. Theirgame does not appear to involve sides, or even rules. They just 180

charge around the square trying to gain possession of the ball. Sebastian stands up suddenly and moves out from the shadeof the thatched awning. ‘Hey! Over here!’ he calls. The boy in possession of the ball looks to his friends forconfirmation, then kicks it to Sebastian. Seb flips the ball offthe end of his toe and bounces it several times on his head.The boys squeal with delight and then he’s in amongst themdribbling the ball with his big boots while they flail wildlywith their brown feet, trying to dispossess him. They screamlike miniature banshees as the whole pack follows him to thefar side of the square. ‘Where the hell does that boy get the energy?’ Harry saysshaking his head. ‘He’s young,’ Connie replies with a trace of envy. ‘Just look at him,’ Zoe laughs. ‘He looks like the PiedPiper.’ Her eyes follow Sebastian as he darts about, surroundedby the swirling flock of little brown boys. After five minutes, he comes back to the table. The sweat isrunning on his face and arms. Harry nods with satisfaction. ‘Didn’t think you’d be able tokeep that up for long.’ ‘Just came over to lose my shirt,’ Sebastian replies with asmile. He peels the tee-shirt over his head, uses it to brieflymop the sweat from his brow, and drops it on his pack. Thenhe returns to the fray. I watch his lean, muscular body with a twinge of envy. Zoe,I notice, watches it with something that looks disturbingly likelust. ‘I was something of an athlete myself once,’ Harry saysreflectively, ‘A long, long time ago, mind.’ He slaps his ample belly and chuckles. ‘Hard to believe Iknow, but it’s the truth. Football was my game too, but real 181

football, the American sort. I wanted to turn pro, but it turnedout I just wasn’t good enough. So I joined the army instead.Marine Corp. I thought I was pretty tough back then, andthe Marines, well, Hell they were the toughest of ‘em all. Icouldn’t wait to join up and prove I was worthy of that tattoo.’ He smiles and shakes his head at the memory of his youth-ful indiscretion. ‘Then I saw the light,’ he tells us. ‘I realisedthat there was something a lot more important in life thanphysical toughness.’ ‘God?’ Jan suggests. ‘Money,’ Harry tells us. ‘I learned the joy of making money,and I never looked back.’ ‘This where you sleep,’ Charlie says, pushing open thebamboo door and ushering us inside. ‘All of us?’ Harry asks. ‘Together?’ ‘Sure,’ Charlie says. ‘Plenty room. Fit twenty people, noproblem.’ ‘Well, sure,’ Connie says, ‘but…I mean…what aboutprivacy? Is there somewhere we can get undressed at least?’ ‘Don’ worry,’ Charlie grins. ‘No one see you. It get ver’dark here soon. No light in hut, see?’ ‘It’s great,’ Zoe says, coming to Charlie’s defence. ‘We’llmanage just fine. Won’t we Mike?’ ‘Eh, yeah, sure we will. It’s…it’s great. Really great.’ The hut is about thirty feet long and fifteen wide with tworaised dais running down the long sides leaving a broad, reddirt aisle down the middle. The walls are split bamboo andbright sunlight comes between the slats illuminating the dustraised by our feet. ‘You take shoe off,’ Charlie explains, ‘before you get onsleeping platform. Leave shoe here, in middle.’ We all nod dutifully and Jan begins to undo his laces but 182

Charlie stops him. ‘No take shoe off yet. I show you toilet first.’ We troop outside and follow Charlie around the corner towhere a small hut stands in splendid isolation, backing ontowhat appears to be a pigsty. ‘This toilet.’ Charlie announces. He swings the door openand we stare at a rough hole in the ground. ‘Nice,’ Zoe says caustically. ‘Jesus Christ,’ Harry breathes and the others, with thenotable exception of Sebastian, look taken aback in variousdegrees. Connie looks as though she’s just been shown thebody of a long dead sheep ‘This is for just the men?’ Jan asks, ‘or for the ladies too?’ ‘Man and lady.’ Charlie assures him. ‘One toilet, okay?’ ‘Oh God.’ Connie whimpers, and we all nod our under-standing. ‘Excuse me please,’ she says waving vaguely toattract Charlie’s attention. ‘Could you tell me where the bath-room is?’ Charlie looks confused. ‘This toilet,’ he says. ‘I show you.Toilet in hut.’ ‘No, not the toilet. I mean the bathroom. Where do wewash? Shower, you know? Oh Christ, Harry, what’s the wordfor bathroom? I can’t make him understand.’ But Charlie has caught up. ‘No bat’room,’ he says with asmile. ‘No wash until we get river.’ ‘What did he say?’ ‘He said there’s no bathroom,’ Harry repeats dully. ‘Wecan’t wash until we get to the river.’ ‘No bathroom? But there’s got to be a bathroom. We can’tbe expected to go to bed like this. I’m all hot and sweaty. Ineed a shower.’ ‘Sure, and I need a large bourbon on the rocks, but I don’tsuppose I’m going to get that either.’ 183

‘But this is insane. We can’t possibly stay here without abathroom. We’ll have to go to a hotel.’ ‘A hotel? Jesus Christ, Connie, where the hell do you thinkwe are? We’re in the middle of the damned jungle, that’swhere.’ Our little group is looking embarrassed by Connie’s out-burst. We’re shuffling our feet and staring at the ground, but Ican see enough of Zoe’s face to tell that she’s smirking. ‘Okay,’ Charlie calls, clapping his hands to bring us toorder. ‘Okay. Now you know where toilet is. An’ remember….ver’ important,’ he wags his finger again. ‘No use toilet paper.Un’erstand?’ ‘No toilet paper? You’re kidding.’ Harry looks aghast. ‘No. No paper. Okay?’ ‘Why the hell not?’ Connie demands. ‘It not go ‘way,’ Charlie tells her. ‘Not good.’ He’s smiling again, but I get the feeling he’s very serious.I’m not quite sure what he means by ‘it not go away’. Perhapsit’s some environmental thing. ‘What the hell are we supposed to use then?’ Conniedemands. Charlie looks surprised. ‘You use hand. And water. Alwaystake bottle of water to toilet with you. No forget. Okay, dinnerin twenty minute.’ No one seems in a hurry to be the first to use the loo. Ithought I wanted to go myself ten minutes ago but the urgeseems to have left me. We wander back to the sleeping hutand our little group disperses slowly, spreading itself aroundthe big room, each couple seeking a spot as far away from theothers as possible. Zoe is the first to kick her shoes off andclimb onto the sleeping platform. As I join her she whispers, ‘Igot us a spot by the door. Best place to be. Easy if you need to 184

go to the loo.’ ‘Good thinking,’ I whisper back. I’m just pleased she’stalking to me again. I move about the bamboo platform carefully, staying on myknees, afraid I’ll put a foot through it. It seems solid enough,yet springy. I try lying on my side and the floor gives slightlyat shoulder and hip, but not enough for comfort. I think long-ingly of the threadbare bed we slept on in Bangkok. I thoughtwe were slumming then, but this…! Charlie pops back in to check that everyone is okay. Weoffer a chorus of ‘yes’s’ but his attention is caught by Conniewho seems to be examining the ceiling. ‘What you do?’ he asks. ‘I’m checking for spiders,’ she tells him over her shoulder.‘I hate spiders!’ ‘You no do that,’ he says. ‘Not good.’ Connie turns and gives him a puzzled look. ‘Is it badmanners?’ she asks uncertainly. ‘Will it insult our hosts?’ Charlie grins. ‘No,’ he says. ‘But if you no like spider,better you not look.’ He waves his arms, taking in the wholeroom, including the ceiling and floor, as he says: ‘Spidereverywhere!’ Connie’s face becomes a picture of horror and Harryquickly moves to reassure her that Charlie is only joking. Ifshe believes him, she’s the only one. ‘I don’t care about spiders,’ Zoe tells me. ‘It’s roaches Ican’t stand. Little buggers get everywhere.’ She lifts an armand sticks her nose in her armpit. For a moment I think she’schecking for cockroaches, but then she says: ‘Christ, I stinklike a pig. I reckon a change of clothing is called for.’ Reaching behind her neck, she tugs her tee shirt over herhead. As usual, she’s wearing no bra and her small whitebreasts appear to glow in the dim interior. 185

‘Jesus, Zoe,’ I mutter. I glance quickly around. The othersare engrossed in their own private preparations and no oneseems to be paying any attention to us, but my natural reservemakes me want to cover her with something. ‘What?’ she says. She lies back and unzips her fly, tuggingher shorts down over her hips. Her knickers catch on the waist-band of her shorts and begin to slide off with them, providingme with a momentary flash of dark blonde hairs. She chucksthe shorts to one side and begins to rummage in her pack,kneeling before it, her bum sticking out behind. I notice shehas the blue knickers on again today and once more I stare atthe little hole on her right cheek. ‘Zoe!’ I hiss, and she glares at me crossly. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you Mike? I didn’t think youwere a prude.’ I hear a muffled chuckle and glance round just in time to seeSebastian look away, busying himself with his own pack. ‘We have blankets,’ Jan announces to the hut at large. ‘Here,in the corner, there are blankets. And the pillows also.’ ‘Blankets in this heat?’ Harry asks. ‘Are they crazy?’ ‘It gets cold at night out here,’ Sebastian points out. ‘I’lltake one, man.’ Jan makes the rounds, distributing blankets. I take one outof politeness but one look at it tells me I won’t be using it. It’smade of heavy, coarse wool, dark grey with some intricatenative pattern around the edges. It’s probably years old andI would bet a lot of money that it’s never been washed sinceit was made. I think briefly of all the sweaty bodies that haveslept under it and then place it a safe distance from my sleep-ing area. ‘Okay, I’m ready,’ Zoe announces. ‘Let’s go eat.’ * 186

19 Dinner is cooked and served by our two guides. It turns outto be rice and steamed vegetables. Plenty of each but no meat.Connie is the only one of our group who is entirely satisfiedwith this arrangement. As I might have guessed, she’s a vege-tarian. ‘You want beer?’ Charlie asks to the table in general. ‘Beer?’ Harry echoes in disbelief. ‘You mean they got beerout here?’ ‘Sure. You want?’ ‘You’re damned right I do.’ As Charlie heads off to one of the nearby huts, Harry con-fides in us: ‘Probably some gut-rotting local brew, but what thehell. A beer’s a beer.’ Charlie returns a moment later with a large bottle of Singhabeer, condensation running on the outside. ‘Holy shit!’ Harry exclaims. ‘Ice cold beer in the middle ofthe goddam jungle. Who would have thought?’ Everyone wants beer and I decide to make a friendlygesture. ‘My round,’ I announce. The beers are brought out and we all clink bottles and saycheers. There follows one of those golden moments belovedby beer drinkers everywhere. For ten seconds, not a word isheard, just the gurgling of drink in dry throats and sighs ofsatisfaction. 187

‘Where’s Connie,’ I ask, suddenly noticing her absence. ‘Jesus, I forgot all about her,’ Harry admits. ‘She went touse the loo but that was half an hour ago. I’d better go checkup on her.’ He’s back a few moments later, his face flushed as thoughhe’s just been shouted at. ‘What happened?’ Zoe asks with a touch of malice in hervoice. ‘Fell down the dunny did she?’ ‘No.’ Harry replies, making a grab for his beer bottle.‘She’ll be out in a moment. Please don’t embarrass her.’ ‘Why? What’s she been doing all this time?’ Zoe asks. Harry pulls a face. ‘She used toilet paper.’ ‘But Charlie specifically said…’ ‘I know, I know. But she’s very headstrong you know. Usedto getting her own way. She just spent fifteen minutes trying towash the damn stuff away. It’s stuck all round the hole. Brightpink! Then she ran out of water. She’s been in there crying hereyes out. I sorted it out for her. She’s just composing herself,so don’t pay her any attention when she joins us.’ A moment later Connie appears, slipping onto the benchbetween Harry and myself. ‘I want to go home,’ she tells Harry, her voice low but men-acing. The others look away in embarrassment and Sebastiantries to strike up a conversation about travel with Zoe, but sheisn’t playing ball. She’s enjoying the show too much. ‘Connie, honey,’ Harry pleads. ‘We can’t. You know wecan’t.’ ‘I want to go home. Right now!’ ‘We’re in the middle of the jungle. We can’t go home.’ ‘I’m not staying in this place another minute, do you hear?Not another minute. Now get me out of here, or I’m going tohave hysterics.’ Harry places his big hands on his wife’s shoulders and 188

speaks slowly and distinctly, as though he’s explaining some-thing very difficult to a child. ‘Honey, listen to me now. There’s only two ways out ofhere. One is to go back the way we came. The other is to keepgoing. It took us four hours walking to get here, remember?And we started in the middle of nowhere. If we go back,we’ll have to go without a guide. And when we get there,there won’t be anyone waiting with a handy pick up truck.Understand? So we have to go on. The day after tomorrow,we’ll be home, and you can have a nice long bath and forgeteverything.’ Connie stares angrily into his face, as though he person-ally had rigged the toilet as a booby trap. After a moment,she seems to accept the logic in his explanation, but she stilldoesn’t like it. ‘I’m flying straight back home,’ she warns. ‘The minute weget to Bangkok.’ ‘That’s fine by me,‘ Harry assures her gently. ‘We’ll get thefirst plane home, First Class. But right now, you’re going tohave to keep going, okay? So have another Valium, and juststay calm.’ Charlie returns to announce that the villagers have arrangedsome entertainment for us. They’re going to perform one oftheir traditional dances. The bad news is we have to leave ourbeers and join them in one of the huts. I suspect the others feelthe same way I do. Culture is great, but right now, sitting heresipping beer and resting my aching muscles would be my firstchoice. But we can’t insult our hosts, so off we troop. The hut is the largest in the village and I assume it’s theirversion of a town hall, used for social and ceremonial occa-sions. Apparently, only the women dance for strangers, for there 189

are no village men present, but the ladies have gone to thetrouble of dressing in traditional costumes. Everyone we’veseen up to now was wearing ragged westernised clothes orsimple sarongs. We really are being treated to the full shebang. The dancing itself is simple stuff, consisting in the main offorming a circle, holding hands and shuffling one foot afterthe other. It also becomes clear that no one is allowed to be amere spectator. The women grab our hands and pull us gentlyinto the circle. I find myself between two young girls, perhapstwelve or so, and I do my best to move with the beat and nottrip over my own or anyone else’s feet. It’s clear none of thevillagers speak English, so we are saved the effort of makingconversation. We smile a lot and nod our heads to the musicand everyone seems happy. Twenty minutes later we’re back at our picnic table andCharlie is fetching fresh beers. ‘That was most interesting,’ Jan says enthusiastically, andhis young wife nods her agreement. ‘The costumes were wonderful, don’t you agree Honey?’Harry asks his wife, but Connie is on Planet Valium anddoesn’t hear him. ‘They wouldn’t win any beauty contests,’ Zoe opines. ‘Mostof them look like they’ve been run over by a tractor.’ I wince at her tone, and Sebastian says quietly, ‘They havea hard life up here. They’re poor beyond anything we canimagine. By the time they’re thirty, they’re already old andworn out.’ Zoe shrugs. ‘Sure, I understand that. I just meant, they sendtheir daughters down to work in the bars in Bangkok, right? Imean, have you seen those girls? It’s hard to believe these oldcrones could have produced daughters like that.’ Sebastian is shaking his head. ‘We’re in the North Westhere. The girls you’re talking about mostly come from Isaan, 190

from the North East. These people are from one of the hilltribes, the Karen, quite different from the indigenous Thais.’ I listen with half an ear as Sebastian goes on to tell our littlegroup more about the Hill Tribes and their struggle for sur-vival. It’s quite interesting, but I notice that Zoe isn’t payingattention. For the first time I find myself wondering why she’shere. Why travel to these distant lands if you don’t want toknow anything about the people who live there? Is it all justabout sun, sea, sand and sex? Until now I’d thought of Zoe and Sebastian as two peoplecut from the same cloth. Now I’m beginning to wonder. Theylook the same, with their worn out backpacker clothing andethnic jewellery, but I’m beginning to suspect the resemblanceis only skin deep. I remember watching Seb chatting with our guides when wetook a break, and his expectation that Por should be includ-ed in the introductions when we first got into the truck. Heseems sincerely interested in learning about the Thais andtheir customs. All Zoe appears to be interested in is Sebastian.And I suspect that has more to do with his muscular body andperhaps his street cred that comes with having been every-where, than with anything he’s learned along the way. I’m disappointed to be seeing this side of her, and not a littlejealous of her obvious attraction to Seb, but I can’t help butlike him. While I’ve been musing this over the conversation hasmoved on to marriage, Thai style. ‘You are saying that the groom actually buys his bride?’ Jansays. As a newlywed, I imagine he’s blessing his luck that he wasborn in Holland where brides come free. ‘Sure,’ Seb tells him. ‘And if she proves unsuitable for somereason, he can get a refund.’ 191

Jan nods thoughtfully and Elise nudges him sharply withher elbow and says something in Dutch. ‘What did she say?’ Zoe asks. ‘She told me not to be getting any ideas,’ he says, smiling. ‘It all sounds a bit cold,’ Harry suggests, but Seb is shakinghis head. ‘To us, maybe,’ he says. ‘Brought up as we are on the tradi-tion of romantic love, for which we have Hollywood to thank.But to them it’s just common sense. Like I say, life is hardhere. We shouldn’t judge them by our standards.’ Darkness arrives quickly and the heat mercifully windsdown a couple of notches. The villagers light a large fire offto one side of the square. The smell of cooking meat driftsover towards us and, despite having eaten only an hour or soago, I feel my stomach rumble. Sebastian wanders off in thatdirection, perhaps feeling the same hunger pangs, and after amoment, Zoe follows him. Connie is talking with the Dutch couple, her words comingout slurred as she drinks her third beer of the evening, on topof whatever pills she’s taken, and Harry watches on, managingto look both relieved and worried at the same time. I sip my beer, glad of the chance to just sit in silence andenjoy the strangeness of it all for a while, without the needto make the effort to converse. I light another cigarette andwonder what tomorrow will bring. After a few minutes, Seb and Zoe return. Seb is nibblingat something on a stick. ‘Rat,’ he explains, seeing my curiousstare. ‘Seriously?’ ‘Mmhhmm. They’re barbecuing one they caught earlier.Big bugger he is. They insisted I have a leg. Apparently it’s thebest part.’ 192

‘And you accepted? Are you mad? You could get rabies orsomething.’ ‘I doubt it. It’s a jungle rat, not a city rat. The city ones liveon garbage, human excrement, that sort of stuff. I wouldn’tchance one of those. But this is probably okay. Tasty anyway.Besides, it would have been rude to refuse.’ ‘I refused all right,’ Zoe assures me, ‘Rude or not. I don’t dovermin.’ She glances at Connie as she says this, but the Americandoesn’t hear her. She’s collecting up her things and staringblearily around as though she’s lost something. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she announces. ‘Has anyone seen mypurse?’ ‘Here it is Hon,’ Harry says. ‘I’m coming with you. Earlystart in the morning.’ They head off to the sleeping hut to a chorus of good-nights.No-one else seems ready for bed so we order another round ofbeer. ‘What a stupid cow,’ Zoe says sourly. She puts on a highpitched American voice and wails,’ I need a hot bath and amanicure right this minute or I’m going to have hysterics!’ The others laugh, but it sounds uncomfortable. Zoe’s nakeddislike of Connie threatens the harmony of our little group. I’m surprised and pleased, therefore, to hear Sebastian say:‘Connie’s okay. She just didn’t know what to expect. We allremember what it was like the first time we were told to shit ina hole in the ground, don’t we?’ I certainly do. It was just a couple of hours ago, but I’m notwilling to admit that in this company. ‘She seems to be holding up all right otherwise,’ I say. ‘Ithought she might find the going a bit rough but she seems lesstired than me. Of course she’s younger…’ Zoe’s sudden explosive laugh takes me by surprise. 193

‘Younger? Jesus Christ, Mike, how old d’you think she is?’ ‘I don’t know…late twenties I guess.’ ‘Try late thirties,’ she says, shaking her head at me indisgust. ‘Or early forties. Depends how good her plasticsurgeon is.’ ‘You really think…?’ ‘Oh come on Mike, grow up. And those tits that you’re sofond of are fake too. She’s had the lot done, tits, arse, belly.There’s more stitching in her than in a patchwork quilt. She’sa work of art, not a work of nature. Turn her over and you’llprobably find the surgeon’s name stamped on her backside.‘Dr Theodore Mosely, made in the USA.’ ‘Speaking of marks,’ Sebastian says into the hollow silencethat follows Zoe’s outburst. ‘What’s that tattoo on Harry’sforearm. I couldn’t make it out.’ ‘Marines,’ I supply, glad of the change of subject. ‘He toldme he was in the army. They all get those tattoos done.’ ‘You have tattoo, Sebastian?’ Jan asks and Seb nods. ‘Sure.A couple. I got this one on my shoulder.’ He tugs the neck ofhis tee shirt down and presents his shoulder for our inspection.‘It’s just a scorpion. Had it done when I was a kid. Didn’tknow better. But this one…‘ He lifts his right leg and lowersthe sock to show us a small tattoo on his ankle, ’…I got donejust a couple of years ago in India.’ ‘What is it?’ I ask, peering in the gloom at the strange shape. ‘It’s a mystical symbol. Has religious overtones. I washanging with this group at the time…kind of a sect. I wasthinking of joining them but I changed my mind.’ ‘Not before getting yourself tattooed though,‘ I say. ‘You’llcarry their mark for the rest of your life.’ ‘On the ankle,’ Sebastian points out. ‘I think I already haddoubts when I had it done’ ‘Elise has a tattoo,’ Jan says, his voice sly, and Elise blushes 194

and punches his upper arm. ‘But she is shy,’ Jan explainslaughing. I don’t know about the others, but I’m surprised to hearthat the female half of this squeaky clean looking couple has atattoo. Hidden depths, I remind myself. Everybody has them.You just never know! ‘Come on Elise, give us a look,’ Zoe coaxes. ‘You show meyours and I’ll show you mine.’ ‘Let’s see your’s anyway,’ Sebastian suggests and Zoehappily obliges, unzipping her shorts and pulling down thewaistband of her knickers to reveal the now familiar little rose. ‘I can’t see it,’ Sebastian complains, lifting a candle fromthe table and holding it close to Zoe’s crutch. ‘Watch out! You’ll have me pubes on fire!’ Zoe wails. The display seems to have given Elise courage. ‘I showyou,’ she declares in her heavily accented English. She stepsback out of the bench and begins to undo her shorts. Turningher back on us, she lowers the fabric over one cheek. A smallblue bird is revealed, flapping it’s way endlessly across hersubstantial buttock. The sight brings movement within myown shorts and I shift my position surreptitiously. ‘How ‘bout you Mike,’ Seb asks. ‘Any tattoos?’ I shake my head. ‘Nope. I’m an accountant, remember.We’re not big on tattoos. Although there was a time when Iconsidered having one, crossed calculators, I thought, with amotto underneath. In Latin, of course.’ ‘Elise has another tattoo,’ Jan says proudly and she blushesagain and whispers something to him. I wonder where the hellit could be that would be more embarrassing than on her back-side. ‘But she will not show you...unless…’ ‘Unless what?’ Seb asks. ‘Unless she is very, very drunk.’ As one person we all push our beer bottles towards Elise 195

who hides her face in Jan’s shoulder. ‘Drink up girl,’ Zoe taunts. ‘And show us what you got.’ Jan nudges his wife with his shoulder and speaks softlyin her ear. She shakes her head, but I can see she’s smiling,her eyes glowing in the candle light with a sort of recklessabandon. She seems to make up her mind, takes a quick swig of beerfor courage and turns to us. She slips one arm out of her teeshirt and pulls it up over her shoulder, revealing her large leftbreast restrained in what appears to be an industrial strengthpink bra. Deftly she releases the breast from the cup and itflops heavily onto her ribcage. Seb pushes the candle closerand we all lean towards Elise. ‘Now that is nice!’ Seb breathes, and for a moment I thinkhe’s talking about Elise’s breast. The nipple is large and firm,engorged I suspect due to the attention she’s receiving. Aroundthe aureole a pattern of blue ink describes something…wavesperhaps, making the nipple look huge. I wince as I think of thepain she must have endured to have that done. But the crown-ing glory of the piece is the plump metal bar protruding fromthe nipple, a round steel ball on either end. ‘I was thinking of having mine pierced,’ Zoe announces alittle huffily and I can’t help thinking that the bar would haveto be a good deal thinner. Elise slips the breast back in her bra and returns her tee-shirt to its rightful place, a glow of pride on her face. We all sitback and sip our beer, the show apparently over for the night. ‘I had my dick pierced once,’ Seb offers and all faces turn tostare at him. Jan translates for Elise and her eyes grow wide. ‘I knew you were insane,’ I say. ‘Let’s see,’ Zoe demands hungrily. ‘Sorry, I had it taken out about a year ago.’ ‘Why did you have this thing done?’ Jan asks. 196

‘They say it improves sex.’ ‘And did it?’ Zoe wants to know. Seb shrugs. ‘I never received any complaints.’ ‘Did it hurt?’ Jan asks, ‘Having it put in?’ ‘A bit,’ Seb admits. ‘But it hurt more when they took it out.And after, it felt really strange without it.’ Zoe is watching him as though she’s got something on hermind. ‘I don’t reckon you had your dick pierced at all,’ shesays slowly. ‘I think you’re having us on.’ ‘Scouts honour,’ Seb says, holding up two fingers in thetraditional scout salute. ‘Yeah sure,’ Zoe taunts. ‘I can really see you as a scout. Dibdib dib and all that crap. No. I reckon you’re just full of shit.You never had your plonker pierced. If you had, there’d bescars.’ ‘There are scars,’ says Seb mildly. ‘Show us then,’ Zoe says quickly. ‘Prove it.’ Seb shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t think…’ he says, butZoe butts in. ‘We showed you our bits,’ she insists, looking to Elise forsupport. ‘How about a bit of equality in this jungle. Women’slib.’ I don’t think Elise understands the words but she can seewhat is called for and nods her head willingly. Seb looks first at Jan, then at me. ‘I would like to see,’ Jan says seriously. ‘I find this veryinteresting. I have thought of having this done myself.’ ‘Well…’ Seb says. ‘Come on, whip it out and slap it on the table,’ Zoe whoopsand Elise claps her hands. Zoe picks it up and turns it into aslow hand clap. ‘Get it out, get it out,’ she chants and Elisetries to keep up. ‘Mike?’ Seb asks, lifting a querulous eyebrow in my direc-tion. 197

‘What are you asking him for,’ Zoe sneers. ‘He’s a bloodypommie accountant and a prude.’ Seb continues to stare at me as though Zoe hadn’t spoken.‘Do you object…?’ he persists. ‘Hell, no.’ I say. ‘This has got nothing to do with me. If youwant to display your thing to these women, that’s your busi-ness. I don’t object at all’ He sighs then, and begins to unbutton his fly. ‘Unless…’ I add, ‘It’s absolutely enormous, in which case Iobject strenuously.’ ‘Well in that case…’ Seb says, beginning to button up again. ‘No!’ Zoe wails. ‘Sod off Mike. We want to see his willy.Come on Seb, get it out.’ The girls start the slow hand clap again and Seb, grinning,resumes unbuttoning his fly. It soon becomes apparent that hedoesn’t wear underpants and I look quickly away. I decide it’stime for me to bow out. I collect my torch and begin to stand up. ‘I think I’ll justwander over to…’ ‘You coward Mike!’ Zoe howls. ‘What’s the matter? Afraidof the competition?’ ‘I just don’t feel the need…’ ‘Christ! I thought you were a bit more open minded thanthat.’ ‘I am, but…’ ‘Hey, if this is going to offend people…’ Sebastian says. ‘…then I won’t…’ ‘Oh yes you will!’ Zoe laughs. ‘You’re not getting out ofthis now. Let’s see them scars.’ She snatches the torch out ofmy hand, switches it on and focusses the beam on Sebastian’sgroin. Slowly, with a shrug of resignation and a smile that has atleast a trace of smugness in it, Sebastian finishes unbuttoning 198

his fly then, with a touch of unexpected showmanship, hereaches one hand inside his jeans, pauses dramatically, andthen flips his thing out so that it rests on the edge of the table. ‘You see here,’ he says, in a calm, instructional tone. ‘Onthis side. That little indentation. That’s where it went in.And here…’ he flips his cock from one side to the other, ‘…is where it came out. You can see the scar just there, by myfingernail.’ Both girls are sitting with their mouths agape. ‘So,’ he says. ‘Seen enough?’ Zoe shakes her head, but he grins and tucks it away again. ‘Who’s for another beer?’ he says. ‘I will have one,’ Jan says. ‘But I think that they are closedfor the night.’ ‘I’ll see if I can rustle someone up,’ Seb says, heading offinto the darkness. As soon as he leaves, the two girls have their heads together. ‘Jesus, did you see the size of that thing?’ Zoe whispers. ‘Itwas a monster’ ‘I have not seen this thing in my life before,’ Elise whispersback. I glance across at Jan. He’s doing his best to keep anindulgent little smile on his face but the expression is strained. ‘Ahem. Ladies,’ I say. ‘If you don’t mind. I’m still here.And I’m finding this conversation a trifle uncomfortable. Doyou think you could delay discussing it ‘til later, when I’m notaround.’ ‘Aw, poor Mike.’ Zoe taunts. ‘He’s feeling threatened.’ ‘Not threatened. Just a little…uncomfortable.’ ‘Don’t worry Mike,’ Zoe says, her tone of voice soothingbut the glint in her eye mischievous. ‘You’ve got nothing to beashamed of. Yours is perfectly respectable.’ She shrugs, and goes on: ‘It’s not fucking monstrous, likeSebastian’s, but…’ 199