From My Notebooks In 1976: Down and Almost Out in Penang

[In last week’s transcription from my notes, I left you while trying to raise my spirits by riding around the island of Penang. On one of the beaches I met a young German, recently graduated, who was trying to make his mind up whether to study medicine. For some reason he seemed to think my opinion was valuable but there was immediate sympathy between us. In return he recommended that I visit Kata beach, at Phuket, and seek out a woman called Adrienne.

Hans-Georg Hoffman did become a doctor, and he is my friend to this day.

In the meantime, while waiting for the new stator to arrive from England I thought I would take up fishing. I couldn’t find the beach that T’han had recommended, but I saw men fishing along the promenade in town and went to join them with my rod and tackle. What happened next is fully described in “Riding High,” but there is nothing in my notebook about it for the simple reason that I was blind and in hospital for a week, where my documents were stolen, demoralising me completely. When I came out to convalesce, I was in no state to make notes. Meanwhile the stator had arrived, and Lucas installed it for me. Eventually I felt able to ride again, but my plan to cross over to Indonesia for a short while had to be abandoned. I had already booked a passage to India, and there was only time to make a short trip into Thailand in search of Adrienne. Then I started again to make notes.]

Friday, June 11th, Left for Haad Yai

Next to Kings Hotel, a smart hotel with a “drug store“ façade, is a dingy restaurant with box rooms upstairs. Sitting at a table, two Europeans. One tall thin, blonde, and very nervous with boiled blue eyes. A Norwegian. Next to him a squat bearded man with a square hard face. Swiss. The Norwegian speaks an efficient, mechanical English which he drives out of his mouth in lurches of fluency – like a tank turning a corner.

“You are quite right” – grind – “Thailand was full of Americans” – shudder – “the people were dependent on them” – His theory is that the Thais have become obstreperous and greedy because the Americans have abandoned them. An odd thesis. The Swiss listens impassively, obviously not impressed. Tired and shaken by this first journey since my last illness I accept what the place offers – an upstairs box with two hard beds, a fan, and two gauze covered escape hatches on to a narrow space between the two buildings through which float dank odours. 35 baht.

The two others want to make a round of the brothels in an open mini-bus – small Japanese type vehicle with a small bus body superimposed, two benches and a crew of two smiling, softly hustling me.

“You don’t worry for anything. I live here 25 years. You take number of car. You can tell police.”

We visit a series of lock-up shop fronts with the sliding mesh grills almost closed. Inside each one a room with hard seats and benches, a TV, shelves with little dolls on them . And girls with puffy made-up faces sitting around. Some quite pretty. Scenes of fearful boredom. We sit and stare at them a while. The Norwegian makes mechanical jokes. I read his copy of Newsweek. The US primaries are grinding on with their synthesized sensation. After three town brothels (at the third one a nice girl is fondling a toy chick) our guides offer us “the bungalow.” Best girls. Very expensive.

“If you find me a nice girl” says N, “and I don’t think it is very likely,” pause “I will stay with her for maybe one week. My girl has left me. I sent her money. I have given her 10,000 baht from Norway, but she is sick,” he coughs in illustration, “she has gone away. I offered to take her to a doctor. She has bronchitis and gonorrhea. For an injection. She won’t go. ‘Is too painful. Too pain-fool’ she says. I am heart broken. I must have a girl to forget.”

When he hears how I pay for my journey he becomes enthusiastic about journalism. He worked on a local paper. 7000 circulation. But not enough money. He became a radio operator. Worked on a ship for two years, between Malaysia and China. Never got off the ship. It was a hell of a life. I nearly got a breakdown.” Looks as though he might have one any minute.

The ”bungalow” is just outside town. Has two stories – a small suburban house. The prize girl, demure with clean features, a dazzling smile and a faint moustache, sits on show. She has just come back from school, we’re told. She has to earn money for books. N doesn’t fancy her but sees another and bargains for her. Finally for US$20 she comes back with us to spend the night with him.

Out walking in the evening and into King’s for a Thai dinner. There’s a police party filling the restaurant. The big shots make speeches – everybody keeps on talking among themselves – but applaud enthusiastically all the same. Three girls, specially dressed with strings of beads round their top knots, do Thai dances, swaying and figuring with their hands. Then singing. Then dancing. To my surprise the couples also face each other, swaying and moving their hands and arms in classical fashion. A living tradition, by God.

Terrible night in my box. Mosquitoes, damp air, At last get the net out and do my best with it. Some sleep. Narrative dreams.

Next week: In pursuit of Adrienne.