Hart of Darkness
I've been everywhere.
Patpong, Cowboy, Nana, Clinton Plaza, Bangla Road, Walking Street, Crawling Street, Sois 6, 8, 13, 13A, Soi Bukheaw and all the others, Baan Chang, the “other” beaches of Koh Kood, late night Urut massages in Georgetown, Penang,
Sharkey's Bar, Sexy Bar, DV8's and Walkabout and all the others in Phnom Penh, Sihanoukville, Vung Tau, Tu Do Street Saigon, Na Trang Dives, the DMZ and the Highhouses of Hue, Hookers and Badboys on Superbikes and other assorted scammers
in Hanoi, every high-end and low-gutter dive on and off Fields Ave and Perimeter Road, Angeles City, LKF and the private Russian Callgirl parties of Hong Kong, the Arcade walking girls of old Lisboa Casino Macau, the Red Rope girls of Harbin,
and the United Nations nights in Lors' 10 – 16 Geylang Road, and the four floors of whores Orchard Towers, Singapore and so many more…..
But this isn't about any of that.
It also isn't about my extensive experience with the women folk of New Zealand. Why is it that that strange race produces only whores or aspiring whores? Maybe its got something to do with a people who pronounce sex as “sux”,
or maybe its too existential a question for this readership, or maybe its best left for exploration at another time.
Anyway, I digress.
No, its not about any of that. Nor is it about anything that happened to me in Tangier, Toronto or Timaru.
Its about Nagoya.
Not the one in Tokyo.
The one in Batam.
You all know where that is…….right? Some of you don't have your hands up? Ok lads, listen carefully lest you make the same mistake as your good ol' favourite ex-priest HoD.
Ok so you wanna go to Batam. You've heard about the alluring Indo babes. Just as sleek as the Thai babes but with bigger tits, right?. Must be the Dutch genes. BTW, how did the Dutch race originate? That would be when the Germans started
to mate with pigs. Boom Boom!
Ok, Ok, get on with it. But how about shouting me another Tsing Tsao? No? Fuck you! You wanna hear this story or not? Ok, that's better. Jeez, some people!
So how do you get there? I knew you'd ask that. You know that rat hole you're staying in in Little India? Well, hook up your beer-gut to your four-wheeled zimmer frame, and get your ass on the MRT to Harbourside. That's in
Singapore for the mentally challenged or those who haven't been paying attention.
I always travel alone. Always have, always will. Sure, no mates to share your triumphs with or cover your back in a fight but, on the other hand, no witnesses to your fuck-ups either.
And I believe we all only get so many heartbeats and ejaculations – not my time? – not my time.
Pre-ordained, you might say. Or maybe You wouldn't. Never mind.
So, you're at Immigration in Sing emigrating to Indo with your three day pass. Overpriced? – hey, they know what you're up to. You get your ferry ticket and your passport stamped and your details entered into the database
and your portrait snapped. What you didn't know was that the chick behind the counter was also making a surreptitious call to her contact on Batam. Its a Tuesday. You're the only cork-Asian on the boat. You're a sitting duck.
Thirty minutes later you're struggling up the gangway at Batam Ferry Terminal when some punk grabs your Samsonite and sprints off into the Arrival Hall. WTF!!??
You hobble behind, lathered in sweat. The immigration police officer collects your USD 50 and assures you, in perfect English, your luggage is – “all taken care of”. WTF!!??
Inside there're 5000 taxi touts in a space for 500. Then you see your battered Samsonite floating above the crowd and miraculously making its way towards you led by the spitting image of the midget from Fantasy Island shouting, not –
“Da Plane! Da Plane!”, but “Meestah Hart!, Meestah Hart!”.
It's your new best friend.
His name is Beemo.
He's your guide.
The fix was in in Sing.
To be continued…..
Let's see where this goes…