Sitting Out WWIII

[Don Det, 4/9/23]

Two days ago, I treated myself to a “diavolo pizza” at Reggae Bar. At 120,000 kips [$7.06], it’s expensive for Laos, but I was overdue for a true pizza. It was good.

Two months ago in Siem Reap, I had subjected myself to a travesty without tomato or cheese. When I pointed this out, some savage came on to curse me out, in a comment I had to delete. What a world we live in!

Having spent two years in Italy and 16 more in Philadelphia's Italian Market, I should know what's a real pizza or fake cheese, but hey, deeply unhappy and impotent people are constantly triggered.

[Philadelphia’s Italian Market on 12/3/13]

On 1/31/23, 36-year-old Nathaniel Radimak was finally arrested in Ontario, California for a series of road rage attacks, with nearly all against women. He would strike their cars with a steel pipe and, sometimes, this tough guy even punched them. On 3/31/23, 30-year-old Brandon Leotta Rutt of Grapevine, Texas was arrested for shooting a woman in the neck after she had apparently cut him off on a freeway.

Countless others are assaulted for no reasons at all, but that’s what you get from a nation that came up with free fire zones, knockout games, Shock and Awe and “kill ‘em all, let God sort ‘em out.” A much-admired president, the best ever, according to some, could joke about drone strikes on boys who dared to eye his daughters, and this wasn’t spontaneous humor, but a scripted line to a select audience, to be filmed for posterity. Kick ass then go home! To distract from his blow job woes, Clinton green lighted the mass murder of distant foreigners. That’s how America rolls!

It’s a hit and run society. Only in Hollywood movies are American men out in the open, with their faces shown, battling great odds, as in one against hundreds.

In drowsy Don Det, no one can remember any murder or rape, but, of course, where there are men, sick or evil acts are always latent, for men often think of what they can’t have. Around 4AM last night, there was a commotion outside my door.

By then, I had already been up for half an hour, reading up on the news. With military exercises as pretext, China is blockading Taiwan for at least 12 days. A Russian warship has just docked in Saudi Arabia. The ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach are closed because of “worker shortage.” Though Paris is still burning, the Paris-Roubaix race is still on. Started in 1896, it’s a symbol, or illusion, of an unchanging France.

“Get the fuck away from my window, mate! Go, go away! What the fuck are you doing?! I’m going to knock you out. Go, go away!”

After this outburst, I heard someone chasing someone.

At my guesthouse, each cabin has a crude table, chair and hammock right outside, on a veranda. Each two cabins share the same steps to enter or exit. Standing outside my door, I waited for the UK guy to return.

“Wow, man. Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Is he a tourist?”

“No, a local.”

“That’s fucked up.” I shook my head.

“First, I saw him lying on my hammock, so I told him to go away. Then, I caught him jerking off outside my window.”

“I think I know who he is. I’ve seen him at the Indian restaurant.”

In Don Sang, the village idiot is a productive and well integrated member of the community. He drinks and talks, in his own way, with everyone. He’s well liked.

In Don Det, the village idiot is a creep who gravitates towards foreigners. He invites himself to their tables and, sometimes, is even admitted into their rooms, with both men and women paying him for sex. Why not? It’s an experience. No one will know.

He has stolen phone chargers and even phones, so has been locked up, but only briefly.

When I told Ken of One More Bar about the creep’s latest antic, Ken said, “That’s no good. We don’t want to scare the falang away. I’ll talk to his family.”

Arriving in Laos on a 30-day visa, I thought I would stay in Don Det for ten days, at most, but it will be at least 20 days, if not longer. Pakse can wait. Paying $50, I just got a 30-day visa extension via Datta Banana Leaf. It’s more than just an Indian restaurant.

From a nearby table, a Swiss tells a Chinese woman in English, “I had money, but I wasn’t happy, so I decided to start over. Now, I have no money, but I’m happy.” He laughs.

It’s not quite true, for if he literally had no money, he wouldn’t be lounging around in southern Laos, and that applies to me also. Sitting in Datta before noon, I’m on my second large bottle of Beerlao. At $1.18, it’s hard to resist, and it does relax me, thus an aid to my work, what I call my writing.

Charlie Parker died at age 34 from sadness and heroin. The coroner thought he was between 55 and 60. At 17, I learnt this, and that Thelonious Monk was mostly silent during his last decade. It’s a fickle spigot. Do whatever it takes, for everything conspires against this, with failure almost certainly assured. So what if I will only leave garbage behind? It takes a vast minor league system to yield Rickey Henderson and Pete Rose, etc.

I look up to see the masturbating creep standing at my table. He’s the ugliest man I’ve seen in months, if not years, with a face entirely sapped of intelligence. Ready to leave, the Swiss says, “This guy was caught masturbating outside a woman’s window last week.”

“Unbelievable! He was jerking off outside this guy’s window last night.”

“What can we do? It’s not our country.”

“In Vietnam, somebody would have killed him already, and I mean Vietnamese. If you’re a woman who sees this freak jerking off outside your window, it’s not trivial. It’s terrifying.”

The Swiss can only shrug. He’s been here for years. This is Laos.

As for the idiot, he just stands there, with the faintest smile on his face.

“Look at him, man!” I say. “He knows what’s going on. He’s smiling!”

Even in something like paradise, there are false notes, for this is still earth, after all.

Sitting in Oi’s yesterday, I saw tourists and locals hanging out on a tiny island in the Mekong, with a white woman repeatedly standing on her hands. Oi’s has nachos with salsa and real cheese, it claims. If true, that’s another reason to linger in Don Det.

At German-owned Torture Sandwich Bar, the sausage machine is broken, so there are no wursts for a vile.

You can order burgers here, but without pickles, only raw cucumber. This is not just a slap in the face to six million Holocaust survivors scattered across the globe, but every Jew alive, including me, of course.

Still, Don Det is as perfect a place to sit out World War III as any. How did I become so lucky? To be canceled by Uncle Sam was the best gift I’ve ever received.

Without that erasure, I would likely not have had the volition to search not just for freedom, but life itself.

[Don Det, 4/9/23]

[Sarande, Albania on 5/26/21]

[“Kosovo Pizza” in Tirana, Albania on 2/17/21]

[Yangsan, South Korea on 3/29/20]