"Barry gone to Laos on a visa run again has he?" I
asked Kez who, head buried in a book, grunted his affirmation.
"Where about's he gone then?"
Kez glanced up and with a wry grin and a slight shrug of his stocky
shoulders replied,
"Uh he's gone to……..That place"
Kez had never actually been to the place but he'd get there sometime
as I had done a couple of weeks earlier.
"Your friend he come", shouted Wunjan excitedly.
Wunjan was one of those people who found it necessary to shout
even if, as now, you were sitting barely two feet away.
"Thanks very much Wunjan" said John sarcastically as
he leaned away and made a show of cleaning his ear with his finger.
Turning back to me "He's earlier than I expected, I spose
he must have taken the nighttrain"
We were outside in the small restaurant area of Wunjans's guesthouse.
Not the most successful of guesthouses due to it's isolated positioning
it made a far better whorehouse and the three girls were lounging
around on a couple of sofas indoors. The rudely cut wooden table
separated me from John, whose sparse freshly washed, blonde hair
fluffed up in a precious breeze that blew in through the tattered
bamboo walls. The tiny out door restaurant was grimy but airy
and all we really wanted to do was sit in peace, however that
wasn't happening. John's lips were pursed and his forehead furrowed
in displeasure at Wun's piercing and persistent gabbling and he
was certainly showing his forty years. The break from work meant
short sleeves were in and the bright tattoos on his forearms along
with healing scars on his hands were a constant reminder to me
of the proverbial ill spent youth and his vain efforts to hide
it.
John and I had only arrived the previous day and were trying
to relax after the tiring journey, I with a National Geographic,
and he with Martin Amis. It was hot but we were in the shade and
it could have been perfect if not for the dubious company of the
proprietor himself, "Wunjan", a man of few morals and
few English words. Laos has similarities with Thai but our Thai
wasn't good and he didn't really listen anyway. He'd spent most
of the morning trying to persuade us to drink some kind of local
Laos whiskey, a foul blend of herbs, roots, and crudely fermented
alcohol. It tasted exactly like….a foul blend of herbs,
roots and crudely fermented alcohol and had me actually gagging
after my first, and only, shot. We were now on the Chinese tea
stoically resisting Wunjan's persistent shouts of,
"Drink, drink my friend, drink, my friend you very good",
accompanied by a shot glass being thrust annoyingly in your face.
A wiry rodent like man, Wun sported a fine black moustache, a
large nose and permanently side parted and bryllcreamed hair.
Barefoot and attired in gray slacks and white undershirt he just
didn't know how to relax. Unlike most of his Buddhist neighbors
Wunjan's god was money and I had a sneaking suspicion that he'd
only supplied his rank brew so we'd buy something to wash the
foul taste away. He'd already given me one of his business cards
and it claimed him to be a guesthouse owner, building contractor
and tour guide. It omitted to mention that he also had interests
in a whorehouse and supplemented his income by administering pipes
of opium and selling weed. Still we've all got to make a living.
"My friend you, yes yes"
The new visitor made a welcome diversion and we could see him
now strolling over the unused airfield towards us.
"He got here quickly" I remarked to John and began pouring
another cup of tea.
I looked up to see Barry at the gate, his small frame exaggerating
his oversized head. He'd just trekked over from the bus stop and
now looked tired and dusty. No wonder, he'd been travelling for
the last 30 hours and the last four of these had been on a local
bus perched amongst sacks of rice and the like, while the bus
wound it's way through the hills and fields of central Laos.
Happily dropping his small rucksack to the ground, Barry wearily
plumped his five foot two body down on the hard wooden bench
Wun went into a frenzy "My friend, very good, my friend you
I memory you…sit,sit whiskey you like you strong man"
After his long trip I wondered how Barry would handle this as
Wun started franticly leafing through the guest house register.
" I write, look, I write good friend, puen dee" The
words came out in a rapid staccato and he started jabbing his
finger at an entry made six months previously. Barry had dealt
with Wunjan before and in the same nonsensical English, with his
round head wobbling, fired back happily.
"Yes, you, very good, good friend me" and other inanities.
I noticed with interest that Barry had not even shaken the dust
out of his clothes before he was raising his clenched fists in
an obvious imitation of smoking the pipe. Sh, shh, Wun raised
his fingers to his lips in mock seriousness and glanced around
furtively, his ferrety eyes darting everywhere.
"ok, ok ,no problem, my friend me no problem"
I trundled upstairs with John and Barry in attendance while Wun
fetched his bag of goodies. I watched with interest as Wun prepared
the room; drawing curtains and scattering cushions on the floor.
The two pipes he removed from the bag consisted of about a foot
and a half off blue plastic piping, which he proceeded to screw
into a black plastic bowl the same shape, and about half the size
of a tennis ball. Wunjan took two small paraffin burners from
his bag lit them and sat cross legged next to John, who bare chested
in the heat, was all ready reclined, beads of sweat from the sauna
like room showing on his forehead. Wunjan sat down cross-legged
besides him and jokingly leant forwards and started pulling at
John's chest hair.
"Very sexy, very nice, lady Laos like…you give me?"
he laughed, motioning to his own smooth, hair free chest.
John irritably brushed his hand away and picked up one of the
pipes as Wunjan maneuvered it over the flame.
He began to suck frantically on the pipe while Wunjan worked the
tiny piece of opium he had removed from a brown sticky lump about
the size of a man's fist around the pin sized hole in the bowl.
Angled over a small paraffin burner Wunjan worked hard to keep
the oily raisin sized lump burning but not blocking the pipe.
My nostrils filled with the pungent earthy smell of opium, saliva
involuntarily gathered in my mouth, and my eyes watered as clouds
of bluish smoke filled the room.
After my 8th or 9th pipe I raised myself unsteadily into a sitting
position, struggled manfully to keep my eyes open and ignoring
the waves of sickly, sweet languor pulsating from my stomach shook
my head to Wunjans's incessant haggling,
"One more, very good, make you very strong man, you my very
good friend", I'd noticed Wunjan steadfastly refused to touch
the stuff and that our deep friendship in no way hampered business.
A small grubby notebook lay open in front of him, and he carefully
marked down the pipes smoked and his breast pocket bulged conspicuously
with the kip John and Barry had given before leaving the room.
Pushing myself into a sitting position I paid up and taking a
deep breath allowed Wunjan to help me to my feet.
Grinning stupidly and standing unsteadily on two feet for the
first time in an hour I half cajoled half pushed Wunjan out the
door, he hastily grabbing his paraphernalia and heading downstairs,
with a hopeful cry of,
"Tomorrow Ok, my friend, you tell me, I come"
The next morning passed uneventfully enough, except for a minor
incident near the kitchen. John had strolled down looking for
coffee and had been an easy target for Wunjan's latest and greatest
get rich quick scheme. Finding his passage to the Nescafe blocked
and not having woken up properly John finally cracked,
"No I don't want to buy your ******* guesthouse" he
had snapped at Wunjan who retreated momentarily, looking shocked
and hurt, his restless eyes darting from John to me and his long
nose twitching. Rallying himself he advanced once more.
"My friend, never mind, very good, jai yen yen", he
said ingratiatingly grabbing John's arm with one hand and throwing
the other arm round my shoulder. Not being the touchy feely type
I had shrunk away from his touch, but eventually Wunjan successfully
mollified John with shameless flattery, and waved goodbye as he
left the guesthouse to pursue some deal or other.
Feeling a little dazed from the sun and a small joint purchased
earlier at an exorbitant price from Wunjan I retired to the roof
where I spent the morning dozing and reading.
The only sounds to disturb me, apart from the occasional hum of
battered pickups passing were the giggling of schoolgirls, and
the ring of their bicycle bells as they rode past. Showing tremendous
dexterity in controlling their bicycle and holding a parasol to
ward of the heat of the day they showed the beautiful grace that
characterizes so many Asian women. All this, while not breaking
sweat, smiling sweetly and dressed in a school uniform complete
with long, colorful traditional skirts. All in all it was a pleasant
way to spent the day.
When I eventually strolled down, it was to find John and Barry
enjoying a early evening beer (Beer Laos, one of the better beers
in Asia and about 20 pence a litre) and discussing the comparative
merits of the two girls, plastered in make up, sitting around
in the lounge. One who Barry had affectionately named one eye,
due to an unfortunate squint had caught his eye and buoyed up
from John's goading he was getting ready to make his move.
"What you waiting for then Romeo?", I urged quickly,
before he had time to change his mind, "Get over there, she's
an angel!"
"Yeah, go on Bazza", John quickly added, smirking as
he caught my eye, "I think she likes you"
Throwing caution to the wind he gulped down his beer and sidled
over to where she sat while John and I, shaking our heads, too
disgusted to giggle, looked on. Our vertically challenged friend
quickly learnt she was his for the equivalent of five pounds and
was motioning imperiously to his bedroom upstairs, when two pickups
rolled, spluttering ominously, through the gates. The old Japanese
auto's were listing dangerously and we soon saw why. About thirty
men, all in the unmistakable, drab blue uniform of communist workers,
piled, laughing, out of each vehicle and shouting and chatting
happily, quickly funneled into the restaurant for what could only
be, their weekly knees up. I peered into the lounge's semi darkness
just in time to see Barry look up in surprise before he and One
Eye were engulfed in a sea of blue cloth.
"Where's your girlfriend Barry?", I couldn't resist
asking as we beat a hasty repeat up the stairs.
"Fuck off" he growled, trying to ignore John's cynical
laughter, his ardour rudely crushed.
I looked down from the top of the stairs and was just in time
to see One Eye being dragged, unresisting into a downstairs room
with about 10 of the Laotians.
Barry's expression had rapidly changing from lust to nausea and
with a voice wavering in shock he called for Wunjan. Sulking,
he took solace in the pipe for the rest of the evening trying
to ignore the sounds of merriment pulsating through the floorboards.
Within an hour or two the party had died down with muffled grunts
replacing the screaming and shouting. It was then that Wunjan
decided to break his latest business proposal to us.
"You see", he said brandishing a cellophane wrapped
strip of opium, "you buy me 1000 kip, you sell your foreigner
friend village 2000 kip. " This was the equivalent of about
20 pence profit for every strip sold. A fair return, I thought,
put against a possible 15 years in a Laos jail.
"Can do very easy", he said with a totally straight
face as we looked on in disbelief. "I think one day you sell…
this many, he demonstrated by thrusting his hands into his bag
and removing a double handful of said strips in obvious preparation
of the immediate action that would follow our quick acquiescence".
Who sent this guy?
"Uh, why don't you sell it yourself Wunjan?", I asked
in a serious voice.
"I do not know foreigner" he said sadly, before looking
up his eyes sparkling in anticipation, "So how many you want
today?"
Leaving early the next day I shook Wuns hand and we exchanged
vows of eternal friendship. I walked across the runway on my way
to the bus stop, thinking,
"Perhaps he isn't such a bad guy after all. I mean everyone
has to make a living. And who begrudges someone a fair profit"
etc. etc. In fact I almost convinced myself I'd miss the old bastard.
Suddenly I heard rapid footsteps behind me and I turned to see
a panting, out of breath Wunjan, shaving cream still smeared across
his face and dressed in a towel.
"You, you, you", he gasped, "one coffee you no
pay"
Ed- Prostitution, opium and grass are all illegal in Laos
and carry heavy jail sentences for those caught..
