Stealing Asia (3 page)

‘Where you go?’ he
asked. ‘You need hostel?’

He was a large
man. Well, by Thai standards at least. Although I had no reason to trust him, I
also had no reason to distrust him either. My confidence was low from the
attempted bag snatch and I really craved help of any sort. The most important
thing was that at this time he was the only person in the city with whom I had
any kind of a relationship. If I was to put my trust in anybody, then he was
the logical choice.

‘I’m looking for
the bus station,’ I told him. ‘I need to get to Koh Samui.’

‘I can take you
to bus,’ he offered.

He led me back
along the street, which I had originally walked down, before taking me around a
turning at the other end. I looked around and could see no other white people,
yet I myself did not attract any curious glances from the many Asians all
around. I was beginning to find that fairly typical of being an outsider in a
foreign land. If everyone was not staring at you; you were invisible. There was
no middle ground.

After ten
minutes we came to a small travel office. The shop had a waiting lounge, which
contained a vending machine holding many familiar junk food brands. Travel
photographs lined the walls, depicting pristine tropical beaches side by side
with ancient Buddhist temples. I was now in more familiar territory and felt
confident I could secure a good deal. My guide continued on to the rear of the
shop where he started up a conversation with a man who I assumed to be the
manager. I approached the counter, which was staffed by a pretty Thai girl.

The receptionist
blushed as she took my details. I was not consciously flirting with her, but I
guess that being with Asia had changed me somehow. A pretty face no longer made
me nervous like it once had and this new found confidence with women obviously
projected itself. She started to write me out a ticket, but the manager came
over and stopped her. He tore the paper in half and replaced it with another,
which he then passed across to me.

All I could make
out was the cost – 350Baht. The rest was written entirely in Thai script. I
assumed the price was reasonable. It was my first purchase in a new country and
I had no basis for comparison. I was able to calculate the exchange rate
against sterling and it was roughly only a few pounds, which seemed like a good
deal, so I was happy.

‘When does the
bus depart?’ I asked.

He gestured to
the man who had led me in from the street.

‘Come, come,’
the helpful stranger beckoned. ‘I take you to bus now.’

I was led back
out of the shop where it was a further ten minutes walk to the bus station.
There were many terminals and each was lined with large, spacious,
air-conditioned coaches. To my surprise and ultimate disappointment, we did not
stop at any of them. We carried on walking until we came to a subsection of the
station, which was reserved for minivans. I was then placed onto a small,
cramped, non air conditioned box on wheels not unlike the one in which I had
ridden earlier.

‘Enjoy,’ the man
said, before leaving me with my new driver.

‘Sawasdee,’ I
said, trying out the one word I had managed to learn before coming to this
country.

‘Sawasdee,’ the
driver replied, a tad hesitantly.

‘You will take
me to Samui?’ I asked, hopefully.

The driver
smiled, but I could see in his eyes that he could no more understand me than I
could him.

I climbed aboard
and took a seat in the exact same position in the back right corner of the van
as in my earlier transport. When the minivan got underway, we pulled out of the
station and I saw the helpful stranger standing by the roadside. I offered him
a smile and a wave. He returned the smile, but instead of a wave he formed the
shape of a pistol with his right hand and mimed a gunshot at the back of the
van. His smile no longer seemed quite so friendly and a chill ran down my
spine. I wondered if I had trusted the right man after all.

Chapter 3

The soldier could
not have been any less than eighteen years of age. Though he could have passed
for younger. Much younger. If I had been in any other place it would have been
easy to dismiss him as just a child with a toy. However, the ten foot high
barbed wire fence complete with gun turrets told me that this was no playground
we were on and the sweat dripping from the soldier’s brow indicated it was
anything but a toy he was pointing at me. The tank dominating the courtyard was
also a major giveaway.

I took a step
forward. The gun barrel moved up an inch. I took a step backward. This time the
weapon held steady. Seeing this as a positive sign, I attempted to make eye
contact with the boy soldier in order to affirm my benign intentions. Our
glances met, but I was unsure what gesture to make next. This was a completely
alien environment and a nod of the head or a wave of the arms could have
completely different connotations to what I was used to.

‘Move,’ the
soldier said.

He directed his
head towards a line of people that had formed about twenty yards to his right.
His gun, however, remained pointed in my direction.

The row was
single file, but it moved swiftly. Just beyond the queue there was a small
manned booth where passports were being checked and stamped. I could see no
white people in the line and all of the women wore headscarves. My heart knew
what this meant, but my head was still searching for an alternate explanation.

‘There’s been a
mistake,’ I said to the soldier. ‘I am not supposed to be here.’

His rifle
started to tremble. It was clear that he was even less at ease with the
situation than I.

‘Move,’ he repeated,
with a tad more authority in his voice.

I slowly reached
into my pocket and pulled out my passport as I thought that it may help to
explain the predicament I had found myself in.

‘Move,’ ordered
the boy soldier for a third time, before looking around for one of his comrades
to assist him.

I was given the
impression that “move” was the only word of English he knew. I also started to
get the feeling that I was close to being identified as a possible trouble
maker. There was only so long before my lack of co-operation would be met with
force. Seeing futility in trying to communicate any further, I found myself
swept along with the crowd and slowly shepherded toward the checkpoint. It was
less than five hours since I had entered the country and attempting to leave so
soon would almost certainly raise suspicion. Although I had nothing to hide, I
did not wish to be taken aside for a more thorough security check.

Looking around
for a friendly or welcoming face, I saw none. With the shadow of a gun barrel still
looming over me, I was now just metres from the checkpoint. The tide of people
was sweeping me relentlessly along with it, but I knew that I had to try and
break free of it if there was to be any chance of salvation. Then as I was
about to give in to panic, my way out presented itself.

There was a
small tourist police office located just before the first customs booth. I
could only hope that the police would be more helpful than the soldier had
been. Trying not to attract the attention of the armed sentinels, I pushed my
way out of the immigration queue and made my way towards this last outpost of
law and order.

It was now late
in the afternoon and the sun was fast being devoured by the horizon. I cursed
its failing light as I tried not to contemplate the thought of being trapped in
this decrepit town after nightfall. As I approached the police station, I tried
to replay the previous three hours in my head in order to ascertain exactly
where it had all gone wrong.

Our minivan had
left Hat Yai at precisely twelve o’clock. Of course, my estimations on this
could be out by up to an hour each way since I was unsure if I had crossed any
international date lines when leaving Malaysia. The vehicle had been full with
me as the only white passenger. Other than the driver, I was also the only male
onboard. The women that travelled with me had all worn traditional Muslim
headscarves. Having spent a month in Malaysia I was used to this attire, but
what I failed to realise at the time was that Thailand is a predominately
Buddhist country. There I was, sat on a bus close to the border, where every
other passenger was a Muslim and I actually believed that I was headed towards
what promised to be a Mecca of sand and sex for western tourists. With
hindsight, I only had myself to blame.

The first
roadblock we passed did not come as too much of a surprise. I assumed that it
signalled we were leaving the troubled Southern Provinces. Two more roadblocks
quickly followed and it was to prove third time unlucky as this time we were
not merely waved along by the on duty soldiers.

They ordered the
driver to open up the rear. I slunk back into my seat hoping not to be spotted
amongst the dark skin and headscarves, whilst trying my best not to look at the
soldiers as they conducted their search. Avoiding gazing at the large machine
gun mount just metres to the right of our minivan proved much more difficult.
Covered by a three foot high barricade of sandbags, to my mind it belonged on a
battlefield not a civilian highway. Whatever the soldiers expected to find,
they certainly had no shortage of firepower ready to deal with it.

After an
excruciating wait the driver was finally allowed to close the back of the van.
He got back onboard and started up the engine. Since nobody had been pulled forcefully
from the vehicle and then shot by the roadside, I assumed that the search had
been satisfactory and no contraband found. The soldiers waved us on and we
returned to the heavily fortified highway.

By this time I
had spent a combined total of nearly seven hours on the road. The whole way I
had endured the unrelenting attention of the sun placing its spotlight directly
upon me. Common sense dictated that I should have been shaded in the afternoon
when it would be due to torment the poor soul sitting by the opposite window.
The fact that it did not was a tell tale sign we were not travelling north as I
expected, for if we were, it would suggest that the sun was setting in the
East, which is impossible.

As twilight
approached, we entered a forlorn town that could not have been further from how
I had expected the gateway to paradise to be. The most striking feature was the
lack of colour. The buildings, the sky, even the grass were all gray.
Everything seemed burned out and lifeless. My spirits sank when the minivan
pulled to a halt indicating that this was the end of the line. The driver
opened up the rear door and gestured for me to get out. The other passengers
all remained seated.

‘Which way to
the pier?’ I asked, as I took my bag from the back of the minivan.

I knew that he
did not understand English, but logic could deduce the only question that I was
likely to be asking. He pointed over my shoulder. A thick mist obscured my
vision beyond maybe eight to ten metres. I expected that at any minute the fog
would peel away to reveal a waiting ferry, which would take me on to the
islands. Instead, it gave way to a large line of refugees waiting to leave the
country and a raft of armed border guards. Looking for assistance, I approached
the nearest soldier, who could not have been any less than eighteen years of
age. That was when I had found myself staring into the barrel of a gun for the
second time. It would not be the last.

***

‘Tell again – just
so I clear.’

I raised my arm
up toward the top of the map. The island of Koh Samui came closest to the
mainland at a town named Donsak. This was a name that I could really have done
with knowing five hours earlier.

‘I am supposed
to be here,’ I told him. ‘The travel agent told me that my ticket would take me
to Koh Samui.’

The policeman
stroked his chin, thoughtfully. It would have surprised me if those thoughts
extended beyond thinking what a magnificent beard he had. If I were him, I
would think of nothing else. Asians and Westerners generally differ when it comes
to the facial hair department. They get it on the chin, but rarely the cheeks.
I have never watched an Asian man shave so I could not say if this is down to
fashion or genetics. This man, however, was an exception. His beard covered
every inch of his face’s southern hemisphere. It truly was magnificent.

‘You are not in
Koh Samui, are you?’

‘Evidently not,’
I replied, dryly.

‘Can you show me
where you are?’

This was the
most ridiculous question I had ever been asked considering that he was the one
who moments earlier had shown me where I now was. Regardless of the idiocy of
the situation, I pointed down toward where my present position fell on the map.

‘I am here, in
Sungai Kolok.’

He stepped
forward and took a moment to contemplate the chart, which hung on the wall of
the police station.

‘So you expect
be here in Koh Samui?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I
answered with a sigh.

‘And you
actually all way down here in Sungai Kolok?’

This time I
simply nodded. I had zoned out of the conversation long ago.

‘It seems to me
you not where you want be.’

I shook my head.
His logic was as basic as his English.

‘Do you think
that this was some sort of scam?’ I asked him. ‘Or have I just been unlucky?’

The policeman
walked away from the map and took a seat behind his desk. It was glass-topped
and appeared ornamental rather than functional. Filled with travel brochures
and charts, it gave me the impression that the bulk of his work did not involve
actual crime.

‘It not uncommon
as you think for tourist cross border here. You certain you clear when name
destination?’

I reached into
my pocket to pull out the ticket that I had been given in Hat Yai and passed it
to him. It was written on a headed receipt giving the address and contact
details of the travel agency along the top edge.

‘This is my
ticket,’ I told him. ‘It’s written in Thai, but I had an interpreter with me
when I bought it. Some thief tried to snatch my bag and this man had kindly
offered to help me out. He was the one who recommended the travel agent to me
and even led me to the minivan that brought me here.’

The policeman
flicked the top of the receipt with his middle finger.

‘This make
things easy,’ he said. ‘I call agent - find out wha’ happen.’

There was a
telephone on his desk. It was black with an old fashioned circular dial
mechanism. He picked up the receiver and keyed in the digits from the receipt.
He then proceeded to have a conversation in Thai with whoever was on the other
end of the line. Every now and then he would glance up and offer me a
reassuring smile to show that he had it all under control. After about three
minutes he replaced the handset.

‘Good news,’ he
said.

‘So it was a
misunderstanding,’ I replied.

‘Oh no, you
scammed. The travel agent, he paid five thousand Baht to put you on wrong bus.
For that money - who blame him?’

He finished with
a small chuckle as if he was expecting me to see the funny side.

‘Exactly how is
this good news?’ I asked.

‘It means we
solve case. Surely, this good - no?’

‘How is the case
solved? We need to find out who paid the travel agent to do this to me.’

The policeman’s
smile disappeared. I hoped this meant that he was starting to take me
seriously.

‘Perhaps, I
drive Hat Yai and crack skulls as American say. Kick some ass until find Mr
Bigshot criminal.’

‘If that helps,
yes. I want to know why anybody would want to send me to this God awful place.’

The policeman
laughed. It was not a cruel laugh, nor was it condescending. It was merely an
expression of knowingness. Much to my annoyance it was becoming a familiar
sound.

‘Maybe they not
send you here, so much as stop you go where you want to go. Can you think
reason why they not want you to go island?’

There was none.
The only person who knew where I was headed was Asia and she was the last
person that would want to stop me from getting there. All I could think was
that I was a victim of mistaken identity. At the very worst there could have
maybe been a plan to rob me at the other side of the border. If that was the
case, I was at least now safe with the policeman.

He opened a
drawer and pulled out a black ledger, which he then handed to me. It was a
guestbook. The columns were designed to record a name, date and brief comment
only. I skipped to the first blank page.

‘What do you
want me to write?’ I asked with a sigh.

‘Just name and
how you find service today.’

I quickly
scribbled my name and under the comments I simply wrote
educational
.
After finishing, I put the ledger down onto the table. The policeman picked it
up, eager to see what I had written. He nodded approvingly as he read my words.

‘Perhaps what
you learn is not be so dumb next time; am right?’

I simply
shrugged and waited to find out what would happen to me next. The policeman
stood and put his hat on.

‘There is bus at
5 o’clock,’ he said. ‘I give you lift to station.’

I glanced up at
a clock on the wall; it read five minutes to five. I hoped that he was a fast
driver.

He led me
outside to where his police car was parked. It was painted in the classic black
and white of seventies American cop movies. In fact, it looked like it might
very well have been a
seventies
police car. Still; I could certainly
think of worse ways to travel. I sat in the back where there were no handles on
the doors and a mesh barrier had been put in place to separate suspects from
the front of the vehicle.