“She made a wonderful statement, but not about the sex.
Rather, about your tireless attempts at self-dissection. Why does
everything in America have to be so obvious? It seems that nothing is
hidden in your country, everything is always out in the open. Oprah
confessionals, personal preferences, product identification. You wear
your identities on your sleeves and then change them as you would
your clothes. Yet, I believe, the sublime is eternal. And it’s
photosensitive. When it is overexposed, it is destroyed.”
“Interesting. So when did you go to the States?”
“I haven’t been,” he confessed, “But I’ve seen lots of American
telly. And I’ve met the occasional Yank in my travels.”
“Well, I’m glad to be the latest in a long line of self-centered
ignorami.”
“I didn’t mean you necessarily, I just…”
“Don’t worry. I agree with you. So what brings you to Bangkok?”
He took off his glasses and wiped off the humidity. Then, he
rested them back on his nose and declared, “I’m on a search for the
sublime.”
I nodded knowingly, “Drugs and hookers?”
“I’ve heard there might be some.” He extended his palm, “Care
to consolidate expeditions?” We tried to shake on it but the driver
swerved into another lane and we were again flung against the
unyielding starboard wall of the bus.
“Hey! Look at this!” cried Oscar, returning to the room we had taken
in a dilapidated guest house. I came over to see what he had in his
hand. It was an assortment of post cards. “Check out the names of
these places: Bang-kok, Krab-i, Phuk-et, Bang-pa-in, Pee-Pee
Island. Is this like a joke? Every place has some filthy name! And get
this,” he opened his new phrase book to the food section, “Guess
what the word for pumpkin is? It’s fuk! And the word for pepper?
Prick! Ha ha ha! This place is brilliant!”
Four hours later Oscar and I were dressed in our best duds,
which weren’t all that stylish so descriptions are moot, but we had
washed and cologned ourselves so extensively that people could
smell us coming a block away. We hailed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled
moped/taxi and cruised in debatable style to Patpong Road, the
famous back alley of sin central.
“What’s with the footwear?” he asked me on the way.
“I never go anywhere without my boots.” I answered proudly.
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
72
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