Disclaimer:
The following journal contains sexually explicit material, adult
themes and drug taking. It may, or may not contain the words 'fuck',
'tart' and 'freak', a reference to the smell of poo after eating
Indian food, a farting contest and details of an encounter with
another randy jelly fish.
That
disclaimer's connection with the truth is strenuous at best, but you
are obviously a deviant as well if you are still reading. One may
think that this journal is not going to be about the average
experience one has on the road. Any traveller would know nothing
could be further from the truth. Drug fuelled parties, toilet talk,
passionate affairs, forced philosophising from fuck-ups or financial
ruin. It's all part of the appeal. Yet, contrary to my normal modus
operandi of late, drugs of a non pharmaceutical nature have played no
part in my Vietnam experience.
I
brought a pouch of tobacco from Thailand with me in case joint
rolling was called for at some point. Like a lot of the Dutch, Uma
punished the stuff when she was younger, seeing its pointlessness
before adulthood and being staunchly opposed since. Two weeks ago, I
looked inside the pouch to find a rolled, and untouched joint.
Leaving Thailand with that in my possession was quite possibly the
dumbest and most dangerous thing I have done without even realising
it. One joint won't get me to the gallows, but I could have paid for
it in one way or another for the rest of my life.
I
celebrated my stupidity by burning the evidence. Halfway through, the
world was no funnier than it usual so I pulled the joint apart. To
earn itself the name, and the consequences of possession, a joint
must contain some marijuana. That it did not, meant I was indeed
smoking a cigarette and visions of my sex life being confined to
prison inmates turned out to be an interesting, but pointless waste
of mental energy.
As
for pharmaceutical drugs, my eyeballs lost their blood red menace
after a week of anti-biotic baths, Valium helped me sleep in cramped
bus beds blatantly not designed for sleep and Uma had consumed enough
drugs to have more side effects than symptoms. Without any particular
plans, and yet to grasp the exchange rate, I decided to buy some
Viagra in Thailand. The friendly fondler in Dalat had proved that I
didn't need to, but I brought some just because I could.
Fearing
the best, Uma and I stocked up on supplies in case leaving the room
was not an option unless I wanted to rob a bank without a gun. I
followed the directions of the surprised but smiling pharmacist and
started with half a pill, and 2 Black Russians. It sounded like a
risqué combination, and set the tone for the night the way I wanted.
Perhaps disappointed it was a one person ride, Uma decided to set her
own tone. An argument ensured, and I had a hard time selling tickets
when the carnival came to town. I also spent the next day hunched
over or having to sit down every time someone walked past in so much
as a bikini.
I
fear that all my journals may have painted Uma in a rather unfair
way, highlighting as I have, all the woes that seem rather unique to
her experience. And no journal would be complete without at least one
such description of woe. With a right foot she must have once used to
kick Lady Luck in the head, another biting nasty punched well out of
its weight class by sinking its venom into her big toe. Being unable
to find the offender, I suggested amputation as an alternative, but
bed bugs had ensured one more welt was not going to make too much
difference.
Sharing
a bed seemed to mean sharing bad luck as the biting bed bugs have
made a banquet of my body as well. Almost a week after a tonne of
jelly fish found out the hard way that they weren't suited to life on
land, I thought it must be safe to venture into the water myself.
Seeing that someone, or something, had snacked on my skin already
didn't stop some jellyfish from looking at me like some long lost
lover even though we were strangers yet to share a formal
introduction. Without standing on ceremony, it went straight in for
the kill, using my knee like some inflatable jelly tart from the
ocean sex shop. Only being half a man without visible reproductive
apparatus, and even less of a jelly fish it seems, the stinging
effects of the violation barely lasted more than an hour.
What
will last a lot longer is the impression that Uma has made. That we
have only taken two meals apart in over a month shows how well suited
our travelling styles are. A few arguments were to be expected, but
causes are always trivial and readily acknowledged as such. That is
not to say that we are not both aware how much a role the
circumstances play.
The
fake world of the travelling bubble distorts the usual boundaries we
define personal relationships by. Travelling alone frees you from the
constraints of everything you use to define yourself back home.
Travelling with another person does likewise, yet it blends two
distorted world views together. The results, as can be seen in almost
every journal from Vietnam up to this point, are often more
interesting than the lands being travelled through.
You
get to know someone so much quicker in such conditions. One month
together constantly is like three or four months together under
normal circumstances. You either forget or choose not to go off and
do all the little things that make you who you are. Visiting your own
private world where humans do the things they would only do in front
of another human once they shared a deep mutual trust. If nurtured
outside the framework of 'normal' social interaction, this trust can
distort into unusual understandings of each other. This invariably
seems to lead to a farting contest.
Uma
broke the ice on this front, or melted it more to the point. A shy
giggle and a feigned look of innocence lead me to believe it was a
freak accident. I laughed at the impropriety of it, and to make Uma
feel comfortable if she was really embarrassed. Unfortunately, she
wasn't. She is so good at it, she'd win trophies and stuff if they
were there to be won. Some studies once claimed men had sole dominion
over farting titles. Uma disagreed, and formulated a strong argument
in the way she knew best. The day of the contest started with the
loudest and proudest announcement to the world that its supplier was
most definitely not a lady. For duration, determination, variation
and exemplification, I'd rank it in my top five of all time, and the
competition was effectively over before it started. Final score,
21-13.
The
reasons for this could be partly attributed to Indian food. Such
blame has been apportioned since spices were first discovered, but
it's endured purely because it's truth is self-evident. Clogged to
the point of considering using dynamite as a laxative, nothing cures
constipation quite like a curry. And nothing cures sloth quite like
an odious alarm call in a small bungalow that consists of a bedroom,
attached bathroom, and little to block the flow of air between the
two.
Despite
this, or because of it, it is nearly time to part ways with Uma.
Again, I am made aware the way my life impacts upon my relationships.
Another persons enjoyable company is brought to a sudden halt thanks
to circumstances, rather than choice. It is the bane and benediction
of travelling. Meeting so many interesting people often forbids you
from spending too much time with any of them. It seems my
bachelorhood is ensured until I embrace a more settled lifestyle.
That won't happen while I pay mere lip-service to the idea, and so
thoroughly enjoy the way I currently live my life.
