Oliver Benjamin
CHAPTER 9
The in-flight magazine outlined in very broad terms what to expect
during my visit to China. It suggested I don’t draw too much
attention to myself but that I marvel at the subtle delights of the
Chinese landscape. China, it said, was a place for inner reflection and
observance of the unique lifestyle. It warned me not to be surprised
by the rigid manner of dress and conduct of the Chinese people. They
like living that way, and are unaccustomed to dealing with foreigners.
I sighed and tossed the magazine back in the rack. Thank god I
wasn’t going to China. As it turned out, there were other small
blessings I had to be thankful for.
In an effort to save money, I had nearly jumped on a bus from
Israel to Egypt because I guessed the plane fare to Thailand would be
cheaper from Cairo. But then I decided not to take the chance.
Anyway, it turned out that I narrowly avoided arriving in Cairo
during a catastrophic earthquake in which thousands of people died.
Then, to top things off, I almost took a Pakistan Airlines flight in
which all the passengers were killed when the aircraft crashed into
the Himalayas.
From my window I peered out over somewhere in Asia. It
looked like any other vast stretch of land when viewed from six miles
above the earth. I closed my eyes and tried to fantasize about
Thailand. I didn’t know what to expect, other than what my
adolescent sex fantasies had conjured up years ago. An army guy that
lived on my parents’ street had come back from a year of active duty
overseas and had painted an image of Thailand as the sickest place
you could never want to leave. He loved it for its cheap beaches and
beautiful women, and also for its beautiful beaches and cheap
women. He said that drugs grew on trees and that you could have
anything you wanted in the world there if you had the money. It was
a land of opportunity and the opportunities never stopped knocking.
A voice from behind interrupted my musings.
“Excuse me, didn’t you go to UCLA?”
I opened my eyes and turned around in my seat. Her face was
pleasant and familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Isn’t your name Jake? Jake Ripple?”
“Rippy. Jake Rippy. What was your name again?
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