Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam

Sobriety hit me instantly. She had her hands in my pants. A line that in most cases would lead to elation, but this was different. There was no pleasure involved. The adrenaline was a concoction of fear, anger and a stench that I could not recognize.

The night had started with coffee, cigarettes and conversations — a bittersweet blend that was peddled at every corner of Saigon. Felix had been living in Ho Chi Minh City for the last 19 years. He had a relationship with the city that was thicker than the 20-cents-watered-down beer drunk by young white travellers finding themselves in an oriental town.

“Would you like to see the city?” the French Canadian asked me, as he pulled out another cigarette. “This one has a Saigon Kick,” he snickered.

It had been about two hours since I had arrived from Nha Trang.

“Yes,” I muttered. “Let’s do it.”

The doors were blacked out. As we entered, a man, probably in his late 40s saluted me, and ushered me in. It wasn’t long before I realized I was at a Gentlemen’s Club. A Vietnamese Gentlemen’s Club that was filled with horny old men singing cacophonously to young girls and handing out wrinkled Dongs.

“Umm, I don’t think I should be here,” I tired to tell Felix. He was already in a tête-à-tête with a girl who played with his greying locks. His hands were all over her, but his mouth kept spurting out, “Dhruv, go talk to a girl.”

I got up and left. This wasn’t my kind of debauchery.

I walked back to the main street, only to be encountered by an armada of Dutch travellers that I had met in Hanoi about a month ago. It looked like I was going to spend the evening drinking 20-cents-watered-down-beer with young white travellers finding themselves in an oriental town.

“I think I am going to go back to the Hotel,” I tried to say, but failed. I get rather quiet when I get drunk, and today was no different. Today for the second time, I got up and left.

“Give back my wallet!” I yelled at the second girl, as I held the first one firmly. About 2 minutes before, I had two Vietnamese girls walk up to me and ask, “Can we suck you off?”

Now before I could tell them thank you and no, and the very fact that the night’s alcohol intake had left me incapacitated, I felt a hand down my pants and another in my wallet.

This had turned into a mugging. If you’ve ever encountered such an incident, you know for a fact that you are never prepared for it. You cannot foresee your reactions.

Mine of course was getting the first girl’s hand out of my pants and screaming at the other to give back my wallet. By this time I had perspired all the alcohol and was grasping a Vietnamese girl while backing away from another.

“Here’s your wallet,” the second girl shrieked, as she put her hand out to give it to me. I held onto it and pushed the other girl forcefully into her and ran straight to my hotel. The adrenaline rush still twisting its way into my heart.

“I wonder if Felix’s night was as adventurous.”

 

Don Det, Laos

Look, if there is a Beast, I will protect you. But if there is a Chicken, I am running in the opposite direction!

You’re a Chicken when you see a Chicken!

The only chickens I like are the ones on my plate.

The thing with Don Det is that you don’t need to go searching for a Happy Time. It will literally hit you in the face. Happy Pizza, Happy Cookies, Happy Shakes. Just all round Happy People.

It is a different feeling when you are traveling across South East Asia. Not sure if it is the people, the relaxed chaos or the very feeling that time has stood still for you. For me, South East Asia transformed me as a traveler.

I had been traveling for over a month now and had finally entered Laos from Cambodia in what seemed to be the most ‘Asian’ border crossing. It was about 6 in the evening as we reached the border crossing which to my dismay was shut. Now, if you are imagining immigration checks and security personnel, you are wrong. It is a hut. Yes, the border check is a man in a hut.

And apparently, the fellow in the hut had packed up and switched off the lights. “You have to come back tomorrow,” said the bus driver to me and a bus filled with 5 Australian tourists. Nah, this wasn’t happening. I got off the bus and walked to the ‘Hut’ where I saw a man sitting in his boxer shorts.

I need to cross.

Come tomorrow. Border Shut.

No, I need to cross now.

Border Closed.

This time I slipped him $5 and looked at him as sincerely as possible. The lights came on, the man sat up straight and said okay you can cross now. There is nothing a Fiver couldn’t achieve in South East Asia.

I finally reached Don Det and got myself a nice Bungalow on the Mekong River. I was definitely looking for a Happy Time.

And it was definitely looking for me. ‘Get your Happy Bags’ read out signboards. I joined a Dutch girl who I had met on the boat to the island as we got ourselves some bikes and rode across this 7 km island.

If there is one thing more blissful than the those Happy Bags in Don Det, it is the sunsets that smack you in the face with different colours and hues. I have always loved sunsets more than sunrises, perhaps it is to do with the colours of the sky or the fact that I am probably not going to wake up for the sunrise.

We parked our bikes at one of the cafes, you know one of them hippie, everyone and everything is love cafes with their mattress and low-lying coffee tables surrounded by those huge pillows to lean back on. I have always wondered if it is the same guy who designs these places or perhaps being closer to the ground gives you a better high. This was a place to do absolutely nothing but rest your soul with some Beer Lao.

Would you like a shake?

Yes.

A Happy one?

Aye!

And a cookie too.

Happy Cookie!

We bit into our cookies and drank the shake slowly as the cafe played some 90s pop and lo and behold time moved even more slowly than it did on the island as we reached a perfect place where both us and time stood still.

Now to be honest, parts of this story are missing because I am not sure how we reached our Bungalow. I do recall having a conversation about chickens and walking beside a paddy field. Although, this could have been any other conversation at any other time. It’s all Chickens and Paddy Fields.

This is why you come to Don Det. To get away from the craziness of the rest of it. You are not here to find yourself. You are here just to be. You are here to have a Happy Time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Noooooooooo, I screamed!

What is it?

Ghost!

A Ghost?

I pointed at the Ghost hovering above us.

Umm, that’s the mosquito net.

Oh Shit, it is. I thought it was a ghost.

Looks like you’re still stoned. 

San Sebastian, Spain

 

Damn, this bread is absolutely divine, I exclaimed.  
Well, it is the Body of Christ.
Never knew how Tasty Jesus was!

“Doce Tribus” I read out aloud as I walked this narrow pathway about 3 miles from San Sebastian.  Ah yes, I was walking to the 12 tribes Compound. The End of Days, Young Creationist Cult 12 Tribes. And it added a smirk to my face.

If you have met me, you know how much I love theology and talking about religion. So, this was the perfect opportunity to spend some time with what you would call a Cult. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t so much the teachings  of Yahshua that led me down the path, but it was the smell of fresh bread being baked. The Religious cult was simply a strangely beautiful addition. Food > Religion.

A few days ago, I had stumbled upon a Bakery called the Sentido Común in the heart of San Sebastian. I bought myself some bread which could only be defined as Seraphic. So, I went again the next day to get myself another loaf. Little did I know, that a conversation with the man behind the counter would lead me to the 12 Tribes.

This wasn’t the first time Food and Religion had found its way to my stomach. Back when I lived in Manchester, I was visited by South Korean Jehovah’s Witnesses. Yes, you read that right. And to their surprise and perhaps even dismay, I welcomed them in and fed them lunch while I countered their claims with logic and common sense.

All I could think about was the airy bread that I had eaten a couple of days ago and how it had filled a void. Perhaps this is how they got you to join their congregation. For me of course, it was all about Breaking Bread.

When you have been a strong Atheist since you were 13, it its rather difficult to empathise with an ultra-orthodox religious group, but you learn to have a conversation with the people at the other end of the spectrum.  These are people who live their lives based on the teaching of Leviticus  in the Old Testament. People who have seek to follow the tribal life like the first followers of Yahshua. People who think that the outside world is Immoral.

For every claim they made using scripture, I countered it…..using scripture.  I felt like President Bartlett from the West Wing. The problem with Believers in general is the nitpicking they do to confirm their own bias.  What seems to be this wonderfully perfect commune on the outside has its own ways to immerse you into their ideology and create a collective hypnosis that stymies any free or critical thinking. To be fair to them, this is probably evident for all of us at different levels and at different degrees. This though is rather focused where the children are homeschooled and kept within the compounds so not to be touched by the dirty hands of the immorality of the world.

Death of the Individual. This has been for centuries the purpose of religious bodies. Creating a sense of belonging, an ecological and cultural haven of sufficiency and spirituality which has been designed to cancel the individual. 

In a strange way, the children at 12 Tribes had lost their individuality more than the adults as they had been ingrained and indoctrinated in the ‘Way’ from childbirth.  I have always  wondered how social and moral conditioning has led to our understanding of this world.

As for me, I was convinced that the ‘Bread’ would lead to me the Elysian Fields