The Buck starts here…

It’s 2a.m. & I can’t sleep…

The story begins on August 10th when this happened. I thought at the time I was just eating a locust. Little did I realise that I had severely pissed off the entire insect community. Well… tonight they got their payback..

The last few days I have become gourmet cuisine for mosquito’s. Other people’s blood tastes like Lambrini. Mine tastes like Moet. I can’t help the fact that my blood is delicious. It’s just one of those things..

So the insect community started off their payback by sending an army of mozzies on a Buck-Suckin quest. But the Buck is prepared. I have insect repellant, & better yet I have tiger balm. Tiger balm is an ointment made from camphor oil & er, some other stuff. It soothes insect bites. It also helps heal cuts. Oh, & it sorts out muscular aches. In fact there is nothing that tiger balm can’t cure. I haven’t tried amputating a leg and smearing tiger balm on the stump to make it grow back, but I’m willing to bet it would work. If someone else wants to try this then I’ll happily supply a free jar of tiger balm & a congratulatory pack of Rolo’s.

Phase 2 in the (slightly belated) insect retaliation for my consumption of their locust brother took place earlier this evening. I was walking home to the english school from dinner at a friends place. I walk past Mike’s house. Mike, as you may recall, introduced me to the locust back in August. Mike is standing on his porch with a mop outstretched in front of him. He calls me over. Over I go.

“What’s with the mop dude?”

I ask. He points at an overturned bin a few feet away.

“Check out the size of this fucker!”

He replies, as he flips the bin with the mop. A spider the size of Wales leaps out. Mike sweeps at it with the mop and the spider is knocked into the air & out of sight.

I continue my walk home. Upon arrival I chat to some of my fellow trainees for a while, & then I head upstairs to my room. As I’m opening my door I spot a cockroach the size of Cardiff sitting on it. Before I can spin him a spiel about having a headache and not wanting to share my bed tonight, the fucker is in. Ok. No biggie. I’ll just turf him out. Or kill him. It’s neither here nor there. He seems remarkably keen on hanging out however. & then I lose sight of him. I search high & low. I use a hanger to poke behind the cupboard and under the bed. I’m searching for maybe 20 minutes. But I can’t find him. Ok. He must have crawled under the door or through the air vent or something. And even if he is still in the room, I’m the size of Africa. Africa Vs Cardiff. Africa’s got to be the favourite. And Africa’s keeping that hanger close to hand just in case…

I turnn out the light and try & get some sleep. The howling dogs outside aren’t aiding my effort, but I start to drift off regardless. “Hmmmmm“. A low pitched hum awakens me. Where is it coming from? Am I the source of this low pitched hum? Is my bum making a hum? Or my tum? I turn on the lights. You’ll never believe who’s standing next to me. “Where have you been hiding Trevor?” I ask the cockroach as I shoo him out the door with my trusted hanger. I dont want him sneaking back in underneath. So I use some dirty shirts to plug the gap. And that’s when I notice another soldier in the insect revenge squad. Except strictly speaking he was an arachnid. Not as big as Mike’s Welsh visitor. But Brighton sized to be sure. This time I’ve had enough. The hanger gets used in a less benign manner…

So I’d like to take this opportuity to publicly apologise to the locust I ate on August 10th, and to any surviving family members he might have. I have offended against you & your community & I will endeavour in future to eat things of a sufficient size & temperament to ensure I receieve no more nocturnal score-settlers.

“Mos Eisley spaceport: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.” – Obi Wan Kenobi – Star Wars.

I’m reading a book at the moment called Cocaine Nights, by a British author called J.G Ballard. He’s the dude who wrote the books Empire of the Sun & Crash, both of which were later made into films. (The latter quite controversially – it’s about people who get their jollies by shagging car crash corpses). The narrator opens the book by describing how much he likes border towns. The feeling is mutual.

I’m in Nong Khai – the Thai town just across the Mekhong river from the Laos capital Vientiane. I wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t part of my plan…

I woke up this morning in my Bangkok hotel room, & packed my bag. I had breakfast with my friend John, and then headed off alone to the airport. A few hours later I arrived in Udon Thani in the northeast of Thailand. A minibus then brought me to Nong Khai bus station from where I intended to catch a bus headed west alongside the Mekhong to the chilled-out town of Sang Khom. It was all so easy in my head. So damn simple.

“Bus to Sang Khom?” I asked hopefully to anyone who looked remotely official.
“Tomorrow” replied anyone who looked remotely unofficial.

There being no timetable for me to check, I took them at their word & got a cool looking tuk-tuk to a local hotel. I figured it might be worth asking the dude in the lobby if he knew anything about buses. Turns out he knew loads. Better yet, he knew it all in english. He told me that whilst it were true that there were no more buses to Sang Khom today, there were plenty of buses to Loei which went through Sang Khom.

“Ahhhhhhh”

So back I get on another cool looking tuk-tuk to the bus station.

“Bus to Loei?”
“Tomorrow”

So back I get on another cool looking tuk-tuk to the hotel.

I check in. I realise I haven’t eaten in hours. Guidebook recommends a Vietnamese restaurant where you roll your own spring rolls. Cool. Shame the guidebook is 2 years out of date. Never mind. I see a sign that says Good Food. I know that no-one would lie about a thing like that. So in I go. I’m shown to a seat overlooking the Mekhong. Laos is a stones throw anyway. (You’d have to have a pretty powerful arm to actually hit it though). I order fish. They bring it to me in a dish shaped like a fish. I really dig that. Next time I want my steak in a dish shaped like a cow. A few K’s up the river is a bridge that links Thailand & Laos. It’s called the freindship bridge. You might assume that a bridge called the friendship bridge that links 2 countries in the spirit of friendship would be called the Thai-Laos friendship bridge. You’d be wrong. It’s called the Thai-Australian friendship bridge. The Aussies stumped up a lot of the cash for it apparently.

So. Border towns. The grey zones between X & Y. The places where anything goes. & I’m here unexpectedly. I could catch up on some sleep or watch HBO on the telly. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to find me a bit of action. I could smuggle some heroin across into Laos. I could pick a fight with some ladyboys. But these options sound a little tame. I feel like I have to do something bigger & bolder. & I happen to know just the thing. I’m gonna find me a karaoke bar!

Let me just take a moment to explain about karaoke in Thailand. It’s absolutely huge. Thai people adore karaoke. Every town has several karaoke bars. Music shops have whole sections selling karaoke CD’s. I spent half an hour yesterday in a karaoke “booth” in a mall in Bangkok with my old mate Freddie. These are soundproofed, transparent rooms with some seriously powerful speakers where you belt your little cotton socks off. We were jumping around, falling to our knees, swinging the mikes & generally acting like plonkers. The Thai people in the other booths were taking it really seriously!

Its time to go. I can smell the insanity of this place from here. I need to hit those streets..

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