The next era of Beer AND Roaming shall commence. Spite, failure, restlessness, and other pointless happenings. For inane observation still consumes my waking life. The drunken words of a man are the sober thoughts of said such man. We’re Not That Hopeless. We’re Not As Fucked As You Think. In Short Lived Moments We Can Do Anything. I lost myself. Then I found myself. And then I lost it all again. The end was your creation. It’s funny how things came to me…
This is the absurd story of myself, the Bad Lie Man, and the two Aussies traveling 8318 miles to Beer and Roam in Southeast Asia. Who is the Bad Lie Man you might ask? He is a man who tells very bad lies. Who are the Aussies you might ask? They are two tossers from Melbourne. We together are pinpointed for oblivion. But maybe one day we will figure all of this out.
Blood Type. Unknown?
A constant sense of confusion already awaits us as we swallow pills in front of the airport.
The Lithuanian Tai Pan returns. The Noble House exists no more. But I am here to build a new one that will one day eventually fall into nothingness.
31 hours after departure we arrive in the city they still call Saigon. We walk out of the airport and there are 1000 people awaiting our arrival. StarScream has arrived for its first show on Asian soil.
Fighting exhaustion I get sidetracked for a bit but eventually I grab a Saigon Red and drink it half naked on a balcony on the 28th floor.
The Aussie and I decide to wander the streets like I wander my mind. And we almost get run over in the helter-skleter traffic that never stops. We are so frazzled crossing the street that a man pulling a cart full of concrete beats us down the way by a full two blocks.
I now drink a 333. It tastes as bland as it’s name. Which suits me fine at the moment.
The Aussie and I play a Saigon drinking game from our perch. Anytime you see someone driving the wrong down the street. You drink. If you see anyone perilously attempt to walk across the street. You drink. If you see any near accident. You drink. The game turns out quite easy to play. You just drink constantly. I had heard the the traffic was quite crazy in Saigon, but I was not expecting this insanity.
The question is, Where is everyone going at all times of the day???
Well. We get robbed the first night. Of course. This is the start of us losing our possessions throughout the duration of the trip. One of the items stolen was the key to the apartment we are staying. A crucial item to possess. Lost. Tired. Confused. And stripped of all we were. Through the eyes of Tiger. We move onto the next day with no regard.
There are more motorbikes here in this one city than there are people in Minnesota.
We are walking around and we stop to use a public restroom by a park. I observe old Vietnamese men taking their shoes off at the entrance. I, of course, follow custom and take mine off with only socks left on. The urinal is lined with men smoking cigarettes with only their socks on. I join them and fit right in. Bizarre freedom has culminated.
We walk three hours and ten kilometers to find beer. Oh, Pasteur Street how we welcome thee. A brewing company that is worth all the walking. The Watermelon Wheat refreshes the driest of thirsts. The Bad Lie Man and one of the Aussies load kegs up flights of stairs to pay off our tab we have accrued.
The power cuts out and we lose electricity in the apartment. It’s like Berlin all over again. I go down to find help. They tell me to wait ten minutes for any assistance. I foolishly hop into the elevator. It shuts down. I sit inside the sweat box of steel for ten minutes. Function has restored and I go back up to the apartment and yes the electricity works. They were right. Just had to wait ten minutes.
Oh. Dailo’s. Our true hidden home on this side of the world. We walk in and we are greeted like royalty. One of the owners shakes our hands and sit us down to drink the finest whiskey one can be offered. On the sly I tell him the Bad Lie Man is a famous musician back home. He believes me. Next thing you know the Bad Lie Man is on stage ripping up guitar with the house band. He brings the crowd to a standing ovation. He is the epitome of chiller. Throughout the following days he would play more shows and would become a local celebrity.
Sometimes you have to eat hot soup in a dirty garage in 100 degree heat.
All of us are bonded forever. If I die, you die. That’s just the way it is.
A party of lost existence begins. And I am it’s king, it’s host.
We buy a coconut. By we, I mean the Aussie buys a coconut. He throws it into a wall to see if it would break. It does not. It ends up bouncing in the street almost causing a hundred motorbike pile up.
I wake up in the Saigon heat and for the thrice odd day it stifles me into consciousness. And decide that I don’t want to leave and stay another day in the city. This happened four more times.
I check the time, it’s 4 AM. And I just passed the west side buildings with all the broken glass. As I try to sweat the heat away, but anyways. It’s late at night and I’m about to crack. And I decide to just walk this path, that I just walked yesterday.
Walking into APOC at the late hours of the night and the bizarre notion of being here has still not worn off for me.
I find myself at another location where smoking at the urinal with no shoes on is commonplace. I have fully joined this budding trend.
The Aussie yells, “I may be drunk and lost! But I’m not confused!”
I don’t feel like walking and wandering home, at a certain point knowing that I will just get lost on the way. So I try to call an Uber. This entailed me riding on the back of a motorcycle with someone who wanted to get to the next destination as fast as possible. I barely hang on and close my eyes as we drive down the wrong way of the street.
I find myself on a street corner with a black spray can in my hand. And I’m doing graffiti next to one of the most notorious graffiti artists on this side of the world. He keeps telling me to get ready to run. I spray on the wall, “FREE TEOF!” But then I remember that TEOF remains forgotten still to this day.
I’m drinking a 333 while smoking a 555 on the banks of the Saigon river while the man next to me relays the absurdities of life. Now it doesn’t get anymore communist than this.
Days go by without a single word of meaning. Imagination predominates over mind or reason. St. Jerome stares ahead. A despondent winged figure of genius.
The real reason why I came to Vietnam. To play billiards. I played about ten games a day. Pool was free. Everywhere. No more exhortation of paying two bucks for a game on a seven foot table. Best thing about playing over here. As soon as the game finishes the employees of the establishment come running over to rack to the next game for you. I tried to rack my own balls one time and I almost got 86’ed. One night I get involved in a pool match that led me to stake hundreds of thousands of currency. Somehow I didn’t lose.
Mot. Hai. Ba. Yo. I knew I would pick up on the most useful of phrases while here. Literally 1, 2, 3 cheers.
All these streets in Saigon were dedicated to a single item you could purchase. There was a street where all the shops sold safes. Another had only shops that sold guitars. Another had shops that only sold flowers. Another had a street that only sold wrenches. Convenient and inconvenient at the same time. Yes, I know where exactly I can pick up a safe. But fuck I live all the way by hardware street.
I drink to Colonel Puff for the third and final time tonight!
The only ATM that works for me is from a bank called ANZ. I swear when I get home I’m switching from Wells Fargo to ANZ.
This is definitely the most random event I witnessed. We are in a mall in Saigon taking advantage of the A/C (AirCon) as respite from the middle of the day heat. The mall is fairly empty. We meander down to one of the far corners and there are about ten bins of clothing and shoes. Cramped into this corner is about 200 people losing their minds trying to pick stuff out of the bins. I’m thinking to myself what the fuck is going on. I meekly go on over and try to pick up a pair of shoes and instantly it gets slapped out of my hand. It’s a damn free for all. I quickly remove myself from the chaos and the Aussie and I gaze on in confusion for several more minutes. Back to the streets we go.
The best job to have here has to be the security guards that sit in front of the shops. They all sit on these little plastic chairs either asleep or smoking a cigarette. And I notice that they ALWAYS have one sandal off while sitting with their legs crossed. This is what I imagine the interview entails for that job.
-“Do you like to take naps?”
-“Yes.”
-“Do you smoke?”
-“Yes.”
-“Are you comfortable only wearing one sandal at a time while working?”
-“Yes.”
-“HIRE THIS MAN!”
The average price of beer at any establishment is about $1.50. I somehhow end up at a place that charges five bucks for a beer. There is no way I am giving in and paying that. I’ve found my limit for spending amount on a beer in Vietnam. I leave the Aussie and Bad Lie Man behind and get lost on the walk home.
Do you chart your own path or do you take the one given to you by someone else?
That damn Aussie keeps racking up tabs in the millions. He becomes very efficient at moving kegs.
The plane to Cambodia is boarding. The Aussies are nowhere to be found of course. They went to go find some breakfast sandwiches.
We arrive at the airport at Phnom Penh. I’m fairly certain we bribed the officials at the airport. I paid six dollars for a visa photo that was never taken.
The Aussie yells again at me. This time it is, “I’m drinking the water, I don’t care!”
Two seven year olds ride past me on motorcycles telling me to watch where I’m walking.
An elder Frenchmen tells me that Cambodia is the only place for one can be truly free. If one can traverse the chaos, the lack of any regulation or control allows one to be completely uninhibited. A complete lack of legalities and regulations. Back home I’m worried about getting a parking ticket for parking next to an expired meter. These people are worried about getting their vehicles stolen.
Another night goes by that sleep is barely attained.
The Cambodian highway system is not for the faint of heart. We took a bus on highway 4 down to the most southern region from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville. The Cambodian Autobahn. There is no speed limit. No seat belts. On the road are cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, cows, and goats. Two undistinguished lanes. All trying to pass each other while going as fast as possible. It is known as Cambodia’s most dangerous road. A ride full of screeching tires and swerving vehicles. The ultimate game of chicken.
Stolichnaya is the rail vodka in Cambodia. I have finally found inner peace.
Cambodian pool tables are not as well kept as well…anywhere. I played on a table outside. The felt was torn. Pockets were missing. Balls were missing. No chalk. I once called the 15 into the 15 into the corner with no pocket. But I still play for the highest of stakes.
Angkor Premium Beer. Anchor. Draft. Klang. These are the brews that I drink in Cambodia. They have a draft beer that is fucking called Draft. DRAFT.
Black out. All the power went out in the city. This is a common occurrence. This happened while I was playing a pool tournament. We ended up playing by lantern light.
75 FUCKIN CENTS FOR A BEER IN CAMBODIA.
I’m crossing the street at night. There are no sidewalks. I almost get hit 17 times. I end up just walking in the middle of the road with my hand in the air.
I’m watching the lighting roll across the gulf of Thailand drinking warm Cambodian beer. I still think I haven’t learned anything worth a damn.
KOH RONG ISLAND.
As remote as a place as I could fathom. We were not even planning to be here. Complete spur of the moment. No electricity. No hot water. No roads. Anarchy Island. For those burnt out on life.
A Frenchmen makes me a burrito. He tells me don’t each chicken here unless you are prepared to possibly get salmonella. I ask what is in the burrito. He says chicken. The island sickness shall start to seep into my body soon.
It seems as if anything can kill you on Koh Rong. King Cobras roam free all around us. Once bit you have at most five hours to live. There is also the blue ring octopus. We met a guy from California who was bit by one. Their venom is 1200 times more toxic than cyanide. 1200 times. There is no antivenom for this creature. So he got by bit by one. They estimated his time to live was about two hours. He stuck his arm in boiling water. Somehow he survived. This is the island we are stuck on.
I deserted myself on an island with nothing but my own thoughts. All the hopes and muse of men were floating away into the abyss of the ocean.
You could see stars for miles across the canvas of the sky.
I got bit about 70 times by sand flies. My legs look like I have been ravaged by the pox.
Oh, the JOSS shots. We took this elixir with no knowledge whatsoever. A shot of vodka was poured with a little room left on top. Then a packet (containing the precaution of only ingesting one dose a day) of powder that originated from Korea was poured on top, fizzling into a concoction worthy of apprehension. We drank to the gods of JOSS all night long.
I buy four shots and four beers. EIGHT DOLLARS!
And this is the part of the trip where everyone gets sick. Violently ill. For over a week. I’m fairly certain all of us at one point we’re convinced we’re not going to make it. I thought I was poisoned. Still not sure what exactly it was. Let’s just call it the Island Sickness.
A water spout tornado is something I will probably never see again. I am content to witness one last marvel of nature before the Island Sickness takes me.
The rats. And the cockroaches. Rat and cockroach encounters. Everyday. I got used to it by the end I reckon. We ended up playing a game on how many roaches you could kill in one day. I think we all lost count.
Non stop dancing. I think I danced at some point every single day. My limbs are usually as stiff as concrete pillars. I haven’t danced so much in my life. I danced more in 15 days than I will the rest of my existence.
Sometimes I look at someone and wish I could be half the man they are. And then I think that some days they think they are half the man they should be. So I guess that makes me a fourth of a man on a good day.
The Aussie yells out, “Don’t wake me up until I can move on my own!”
It’s 3 AM and the Aussie starts to throw donuts at me from ten feet up in the air halfway across the flat. His aim is impossibly accurate considering the circumstances. I wake up the next morning to sprinkles and frosting all over the god damn place. The Aussie might warrant his own dedicated chapter next time…
We stumble upon a pool tournament and end up playing the best players in Cambodia. The Aussie played the best player in Thailand. I played the best player from Beijing. They were confused as why we were there.
Does anyone have a lighter? If someone asks me this question one more time I’m going to end up in a tussle with an Aussie.
And the Island Sickness starts to ravage all of us with no regard for humanity.
Yes, I visited cultural sites and attractions. Why bore you with describing a spot where some point in history someone said something of minor importance. The image of someone throwing donuts at myself in some shitty Cambodian flat at 3 o’clock in the morning is much more compelling.
The Aussie and I can’t find the apartment we are staying for the last night. Our phones don’t work. The other Aussie and Bad Lie Man are no where to be found for miles. We wander aimlessly. We both fall asleep on a stained ridden couch in an entryway of a building in 98 degree heat.
I lost three pairs of socks, two shirts, a hat, two pairs of underwear, and a pair of shoes. My backpack is much lighter on the way home.
The last night I climb onto a high rise apartment rooftop littered with beer cans and graffiti. I sit and hang off the edge. I look at the massive city of Saigon at night. And I wonder to myself. Where will I go next?
As always a special thanks to Dailo’s and Blue Gecko for their hospitality.