Dispatches from a South-East Asian Hellhole, part two
The pickpocket got nothing and the bag-razor artist got more than he bargained for. Behind every set of eyes I see I know what lurks there, a crocodile’s teeth filled monster, with eyes like a demon. I keep my money and credit cards in a plastic bag, stuffed in a condom and shoved as far up my anus as I can get it. This is the only truly safe place to keep your cash and plastic, and even then I catch at least two sly-fingered bastards creeping up there each and every day. The guy who razored my backpack got an electric shock he’ll not soon forget, as he cut through one layer of fabric only to hit the fine electric mesh underneath. He squealed and ran, the damage quickly repaired with duct tape.
Before you think about buying your ticket here, with dreams in your head of dirt cheap digs, learn to sleep in the foetal position with your bags held close to your chest, wrapped around you with chains and padlocks. Even in the apparent safety of your hotel room, every hotel manager has a master key and a hidden peephole to see when you’re asleep and will not hesitate on breaking in to rifle through your things. Practice doing this on moving trains and busses too, practice doing it instinctively as you will find yourself falling asleep on moving vehicles more often than you think. Between the sleep-inducing combination of forty-degree heat, windows and no air-con, you will most likely be targeted by sleeping gas, poison needles and spiked drinks at every turn. The friendly face selling bottles of water has a special supply and an accomplice on the bus, the conductor knows which seat has the spring ready to stab you through the seat cover and every friendly stranger sitting next to you has roofies in the trail mix they will offer you en gratis. The ability to roll into a protective ball with your valuables in the middle at the first feeling of oncoming sleep is invaluable, so learn well. Credit cards that go missing will be maxed out within the hour, long before you can report it missing, and the local cops won’t speak a language you understand, and are mysteriously illiterate when it comes to your phrase book.
The upside to all this is the 200,000,000 whatevers in local currency that you have wedged into your wallet (the largest bill is a five-thousand), is equivalent to ten US dollars, and is your budget for the entire month, after the bribe to the border patrol guy is paid. This is more money than any of these locals will see in their entire life, so don’t blame them for trying to take it. Blame the system, and remember, bring lots of condoms. That fat wad makes quite an intense shape when rolled into a bundle (try spiking it into a funnel at one end, and don’t forget the lube) but an added benefit is it will help you hang on until you can find a clean enough toilet. Almost every toilet will have some variety of hepatitis or herpes on it, so hunt for the cleanest looking ones and bring plenty of chemical disinfectant.
The locals take particular pleasure in making you ill; this is because they are pissed off at the size of your bankroll. While the sage advice to not eat anything at all is practical only for stopovers, your digestive system will soon adapt to the diet of rancid meat and chillies that you will be served on a daily basis. No matter what you order, the smiling face will shout to the cook, “time to clean out the rat traps!” and you must steel yourself for the coming ordeal. The amount of chilli powder in your food will be enough to knock off a horse, so eat only what you need to stay alive. You will then have just enough time to throw a million this-or-that’s at the owner (expect no change, ever) and get to a toilet as fast as you can. The food-to-toilet time gradually increases, to the point where you have such control over your sphincter that it’s like a tap. After the liquid has finished rushing from your colon, use more of the local currency to wipe (it’s cheaper than toilet paper, so don’t worry) but try not to let the locals see this part. The royal face on the note is particularly important to their native religion and you can be executed on the spot for even looking at it without a look of reverence on your face. So be careful about that.
Before you think about buying your ticket here, with dreams in your head of dirt cheap digs, learn to sleep in the foetal position with your bags held close to your chest, wrapped around you with chains and padlocks. Even in the apparent safety of your hotel room, every hotel manager has a master key and a hidden peephole to see when you’re asleep and will not hesitate on breaking in to rifle through your things. Practice doing this on moving trains and busses too, practice doing it instinctively as you will find yourself falling asleep on moving vehicles more often than you think. Between the sleep-inducing combination of forty-degree heat, windows and no air-con, you will most likely be targeted by sleeping gas, poison needles and spiked drinks at every turn. The friendly face selling bottles of water has a special supply and an accomplice on the bus, the conductor knows which seat has the spring ready to stab you through the seat cover and every friendly stranger sitting next to you has roofies in the trail mix they will offer you en gratis. The ability to roll into a protective ball with your valuables in the middle at the first feeling of oncoming sleep is invaluable, so learn well. Credit cards that go missing will be maxed out within the hour, long before you can report it missing, and the local cops won’t speak a language you understand, and are mysteriously illiterate when it comes to your phrase book.
The upside to all this is the 200,000,000 whatevers in local currency that you have wedged into your wallet (the largest bill is a five-thousand), is equivalent to ten US dollars, and is your budget for the entire month, after the bribe to the border patrol guy is paid. This is more money than any of these locals will see in their entire life, so don’t blame them for trying to take it. Blame the system, and remember, bring lots of condoms. That fat wad makes quite an intense shape when rolled into a bundle (try spiking it into a funnel at one end, and don’t forget the lube) but an added benefit is it will help you hang on until you can find a clean enough toilet. Almost every toilet will have some variety of hepatitis or herpes on it, so hunt for the cleanest looking ones and bring plenty of chemical disinfectant.
The locals take particular pleasure in making you ill; this is because they are pissed off at the size of your bankroll. While the sage advice to not eat anything at all is practical only for stopovers, your digestive system will soon adapt to the diet of rancid meat and chillies that you will be served on a daily basis. No matter what you order, the smiling face will shout to the cook, “time to clean out the rat traps!” and you must steel yourself for the coming ordeal. The amount of chilli powder in your food will be enough to knock off a horse, so eat only what you need to stay alive. You will then have just enough time to throw a million this-or-that’s at the owner (expect no change, ever) and get to a toilet as fast as you can. The food-to-toilet time gradually increases, to the point where you have such control over your sphincter that it’s like a tap. After the liquid has finished rushing from your colon, use more of the local currency to wipe (it’s cheaper than toilet paper, so don’t worry) but try not to let the locals see this part. The royal face on the note is particularly important to their native religion and you can be executed on the spot for even looking at it without a look of reverence on your face. So be careful about that.
