SINGAPORE - BANGKOK - VIENTIANE - PHNOM-PENH

Budding Romances and Painful Goodbyes

I'm seated at the bottom of a ship's hold, heading towards the Far East in the company of about a hundred other young people crammed into a large common room. A steep ladder leading to the ship's lowest deck, nearly ten stories above, is the only visible reminder that we're not in a submarine. We’re having a hell of a time down here, however, so no one is very motivated to make the climb. Wine is served, on the house, and everyone quickly loosens up. Our group includes people who have lived in ashrams, who have been to the Festival of Goa, and flutists who have studied in Madras...These are not the same hedonistic "hippies" who will soon flock to the area. These adventurers have come here to discover the world, to expand their horizons, to learn. The widespread trafficking in drugs and passports hasn’t yet become the popular criminal activity it will in a few years. The ship’s cafeteria is busy day and night. Bridge players, raconteurs, storytellers, singers, and—you guessed it—guitarists produce a joyful racket. No one would willingly change places for a berth in first class.

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When the ship docks in Singapore, emotions run as high. It reminds me of my arrival in Karachi, but with a notable difference. Here the first thing a tourist notices is the cleanliness and sense of order.

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A concert is quickly organized, again hosted by the Alliance Française. It doesn’t take long to make friends, and with my new acquaintances I’m soon in the center of a maelstrom of activity. These include Chinese ceremonies that appear violent to my Western eyes and include flagellation, body piercing, and a host of other physical tortures; Sato Lane, in which families are banquetting to mark the pre-mourning their dying relatives; and expeditions with the help of krisses into the Malay jungle, (in which participants walk along carrying sticks wrapped with snakes and leeches on their hands).

His chief dishwasher, an old, craggy-faced Chinese man, examines the damage. I already know what the diagnostic is going to be: I've twisted my ankle. It's going to take a good three months to heal. The dishwasher then proceeds to rub me down, ignoring my anguished screams. Rouffiat brings me a glass of rum. Meanwhile, the rubdown continues, and it’s beginning to look (and feel) more like a torture session than a doctor visit. Terrorized, I start to sweat profusely and gasp for breath. I’m beginning to feel weak. Someone brings a tub of boiling water. My "doctor" dips his hand into it, as if to say "You see, it's not so hot." He then sticks my foot, already in excruciating pain as it is, into the water. I attempt to cry out, but like a lobster no sound emerges. Rouffiat takes advantage of my open mouth to pour some strong liquor into it. With a big smile the dishwasher informs us that he’s almost done. He covers my ankle in cow dung and straw, and then wraps it with a bandage.

Two days later, after a series of goodbyes that are as painful as my fall, I hitchhike my way to Bangkok, limping slightly.

Acoustics that let to be desired

Bangkok, Chiang-Maï, Vientiane, Luang-Brabang, Angkor Watt, Phnom Pehn. I travelled on the roof of a train, by car, by bicycle. I've grown accustomed to being in a perpetual state of wonder and amazement. The peacefulness of this region is reflected in the countless numbers of smiling faces.

It's difficult to conceive that a war will someday spread from Vietnam via B52s.

When the train for Bangkok leaves Nongkaï station, the conductor kindly offers me a "furnished" compartment for a one dollar supplement. This generous man wants to avoid me a solo ride. Inflation hasn't yet reared its ugly head in this part of the world. Nonetheless, I cannot afford this kind of comfort.

A multitude of services are offered to male passengers travelling in the Far East. Years later, while dining in an expensive Korean restaurant, two hostesses were present to tend to me during the meal. One of them gently massaged the back of my neck, while the other one carefully cut the bull's penis, which was served as an appetizer, into small pieces. In Japan my host's wife would bring us dried seaweed or soy sauce on her knees. Eyes facing the floor, she would back out of the room as soon as she was done.