Espionage

“You come to my house. Then you go Saigon. No, my house first: Saigon later.”

These words were spoken at 5.30am and came from the room next to mine. A deep voice, possibly German. I had visions of him wearing an overcoat with an upturned collar, smoking a cigarette and possibly packing a gun. Or was he an actor rehearsing his part in a Pinter play?

Then five minutes later

“You take money. You take money and go. Never see me in Vung Tau again. Why you take money? Bar owner angry with me. I upset. You come here first, then Saigon OK? If you go now you never see me again. When you come back Vung Tau never see me. Understand?”

So not Pinter or Le Carre, then, just some lonely old fool wasting his money on a bar girl.

And while enjoying my usual afternoon iced coffee the man on the next table asked to look at my phrasebook. After five minutes he passed it back to me with a serious look, pointing at one phrase – “Passengers must be in possession of a ticket before boarding”.

He nodded, satisfied the message had been delivered.

I remember Freya Stark and her sense that whatever she encountered, whether it was an exquisite moment just before sunrise in the mountains, the sensuous wonder of the desert’s silence, the noise and colour of the souk or the innocent conversation of a shepherd’s wife and child, each of those moments was sufficient recompense for her travels, for in each of them was a small pearl of enrichment to be found.
Maybe that’s what it was all about – simply accepting the revelation and insight of each moment as it happens, and at the end of one’s journey placing these moments together and taking from the collective experience what you choose.

Brian Keenan – Four quarters of light: An Alaskan Journey