M Y O B

My letter of September 27th, 1968 continued:

Since the border is officially closed, there isn’t much for the customs people there to do, & they had to spend nearly 1/2 hr looking for the tax stamps (about 3¢US) required on the paper-work for the motor! But, at length, I proceeded. From Aranya Pradet to the intersection with Hiway 33, there is no pavement, & what with recent rains, the road was pretty bad in spots—slippery and muddy. When I got to pavement (about 60 km) the machine was covered with red laterite mud; but I ran into another storm almost at once which washed the worst of that off very quickly. I sat this one [storm] out [in a bus shelter] with a family whose son spoke  fair English, & so passed a pleasant half hour or so. Pressing on, dodging a couple more storms, I reached Chachoengsao just at dusk, and checked into a brand-new hotel, where I had a very comfortable room for US$1.75. Not much edible food, though (had a bowl of Chok, the Thai version of Chinese Soup; it has every imaginable [& some unimaginable] thing in it) but it is not bad. The next AM Ieft about 7:30 & was just nicely under way, with nice warm sun & cool breeze, when I had the first flat tire of the trip. The stem pulled out of the “chambre d’air”—inner tube—and it went flat instantly. That took about 3/4 hr to fix by the road-side (I had a spare tube), & I then proceeded as before.

Flat Tire

BACKSTORY: Chachoengsao was a very frontier-ish sort of place. I met up with a group of pretty rough-looking guys who wanted me to take them to a movie: having nothing else to do, I did. The “theater” was a tent with some old wooden bleachers; the projector was an old 16mm, and the movie was an ancient US “western”. The boys—six of them with me—obligingly sat up on the rear-most seat, where it quickly became apparent some of them at least were horny: lots of clutching at their own crotches, a universal signal! With some trepidation I groped the boy nearest to me and found him hard. One thing led to another, as the old saying goes: in the end, we all jacked off together and left quite a mess behind. They all wanted to come to my hotel, but this I felt unwise, so when the movie was over I sent them on their way. It was cheap fun: the cost for the seven of us to watch the movie was less than a dollar!

The Thai’s drive on the left—which is a bit harrowing in itself, as I’m unfamiliar with that approach of course. They also drive like madmen, just as the Cambodians, but of course traffic is much heavier. One reaches the outskirts of Bangkok about 40 km out, and from there on traffic gets very heavy. I arrived about noon, wandered around till I found a reasonable hotel, took a nice lunch & flaked out for the afternoon!

I’ve decided to proceed to Singapore. This will take me down the Kra Isthmus, along the west coast of Malaysia, through Penang to Kuala Lumpur & eventually to Singapore. Depending on how my money lasts, I might go from there to Darwin, Australia, & by train from there to Melbourne (friends there, C&E people), but that is speculation. Accordingly, I put the Honda into the Agency Shop today for a check-up & engine overhaul: it has 7000 miles that I know of on it, maybe more, and this is the first place I’ve hit with a Honda-accredited repair team. Although the machine has run well, I want it to be in first-class shape for the next leg of the journey: it is 1000 miles, just to the Thai border, almost as far as Kuala Lumpur, and about half that to S-pore! So I shall have a week or two here in BK—about all I want, I think—it has all the modern conveniences, and all the modern ills, such as smog!

BACKSTORY: When I departed VN, my vague plan was to go north from Bangkok, across Burma, and across India. My brother, Todd, had done this ten years earlier, traveling by air and train, and had found Burma particularly agreeable. However, ten years later, Burma was (then as now) firmly closed. Southward lay Singapore…

Am having photos developed & printed; they should be ready (if the camera worked) to enclose with this letter in a few days.

BK has marvelous old (French) street-cars! Not many, but they must constitute some of the oldest rolling-stock in the world apart from the cable-cars in San Francisco!!

More later,

Bruce

BACKSTORY: Fond of streetcars anywhere, I rode the old cars in BK several times. The tracks ran along the sides of the streets, a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk: people parked their cars right on the tracks, which brought the old trams to a halt with much clanging and shouting. We often had to wait for some time before parked cars were moved. It was apparent these trams served only a few folks and were utterly out-of-place in Bangkok, trying its best to modernize. Little did I know!

The letter was continued on the 29th:

Why-why-why? do tourists insist on traveling with little children? I’ve met a number of travelers  poking around with under-2 year-olds with them. Not to mention the expense, there is an awful burden on themselves and others, and all it does for the child is to enable him to say in the future, “I was in wherever when I was a year and a half old and I don’t remember anything about it.”

I watched, fascinated sort of by the contrast, as a Dutch couple eating in a nearby restaurant spent all their attention on their little boy, harnessed into a chair; special food, heated in the kitchen just for them, special spoon, etc., etc., etc. (And mama & papa had to order for themselves something not on the menu).  Two tables away was a Thai family, with a littler little boy, who sat unassisted & fed himself from portions of the same food his parents were eating. No fuss.

Children grow up rapidly in the orient and they learn much more in the process—at least as much about living—than american children. Parents start their children walking as soon as they are weaned or before; toilet training the same time: I can’t see that either hurts the kids any. It is frequently astonishing to see the things small children do here—even hard work—without complaint.

Caught a small cold (air-conditioning territory again!) so have been rather sluggish. Besides, the Moto being in the shop means walking, which is OK except that BK is a big place. Took in Dusit Zoo (nearby) today; quite a good zoo, & very popular (on Sunday) place to go. Tomorrow I have to go to the airport, pick up and re-pack my bag there are and ship it on—I think now I’ll just send it on to Robb, since I can’t imagine having any use for the stuff in it for quite a while.

BACKSTORY: There really was a time when one could pack a suitcase and send it anywhere in the world as “unaccompanied baggage”. This was very handy, and you could arrange to have your baggage at your destination even before you got there! In my case, I had sent a bag from Vietnam to Bangkok, thinking at the time I might settle in, or get work in, Bangkok. I quickly decided this was not to be, so shipped the bag on home via by Brother, Robb. Getting the bag out of customs at the airport involved a little money under the table, of course, but I had become so used to this in VN that I thought nothing of it.

Bangkok is expensive. I want to take one of the bus tours in the next day or two, & then press on fairly soon. One sees in Bangkok a preview of what Saigon will be like ten years from now, and frankly it isn’t all that pretty. Grinding poverty in the very shadow of splendor; gawdawful traffic, & smog at times; very little of Thai culture—and much of the bastardized american-thai substitute.

The Thais do have what must be the most lavishly decorated trucks and busses, though. Most start life as a Mercedes or Toyota 1½ or 2½ T chassis. The bodies (except cab) seem to be built locally, mostly out of wood, all carefully finished and polished. The whole is decorated with vast amounts of chrome trim, with hammered designs, and (fake) rivet-heads running in rows everywhere; also popular are painted scenes in little chrome frames tacked on here and there. To all this is added rows of colored lights all over the place, so at night it all looks like a moving giant Xmas tree. (And I do mean Xmas!)

Curiously, one’s surroundings change quickly after crossing into Thailand. Of course, this is emphasized by the border being closed, hence the Thai and Khmer cultures do not mix. Thai homes are built of wood, on or very near, the ground & not raised up 10-12 feet as are Khmer homes. Bangkok is largely built of wood, & there are large fires at times (I see the remains of one in some shops just down the street from this hotel). One leaves French behind quite rapidly, too, at the border; not nearly as many people speak English as the booklets say, though. Street signs are frequently nonexistent &  it is a hard city to get around in. The layout is odd, & compounded by one-way streets, traffic-circles & such. Driving on the left still seems odd—I suppose it will for quite a while—but I’ll have that from here on, so I’d better catch on. Making a right turn against oncoming traffic becomes precisely the problem that making a left is in the states.

Enclosed photos better than I’d expected!

Much love to all,

Bruce

Buddhist Temple, 1968

Buddhist temples like this are everywhere in Thailand. This was one of the first I encountered, so I snapped a photo because the weather was fine. Of Bangkok itself, I got no pictures: the reason will become apparent in future letters.

Stay tuned!

March 6, 2009

BEFORE I BEGIN THIS EPISODE

Even I was out of my seat several times as President Obama spoke to Congress–and to us–last week. It is so very refreshing to hear someone who can put thoughts into words and words into sentences! Listening (which I admit I was rarely able to do) to Ex-President Bush the last eight years was painful! Watching him I simply could not manage.

The republican response from Bobby Jindal was excruciating. Choosing him, presumably because his background vaguely resembles Mr. Obama’s, was tacky: that Bobby felt obliged to capitalize on it was even tackier. That his speech had been prepared without having heard the President is inexcusable. If Bobby Jindal is the best the repugnants can put forth to articulate their message, there’s little to fear from them. As usual, Rachel Madow summed it up best here.  To top it off, now we find he lied!  Sheeesh!

ONE MORE THING:

The router for my LAN gave up the ghost last weekend, necessitating purchase and installation of a new one. I have to say this for LinkSys: they’ve finally gotten their gadgets together with their installation disc and made the configuration far easier than it used to be. I actually managed to get the new router up and working without calling the Geek Squad or other assistants. Of course, there’s a down-side to that: some of those Geeks are really, really cute! But, on with my narrative.

SAN JOSE STATE

Although the summer job I took was located in Santa Clara, I elected to live in San Jose, not far from the State College campus. I had been so uncomfortable at UR, with all its rich kids, that I quickly decided SJS was a better fit for me. Additionally, it became apparent I could work part time at my new job and attend SJS in the fall. The job was far from onerous, in a small shop that specialized in repairing furniture and other “stuff” that had been damaged in transit. The boss had  contracts with several trucking companies and railroads, so a never-ending stream of broken, crushed and battered items came in. What could be repaired satisfactorily usually went to the customer who had ordered it. Some items were beyond repair (we were the deciders) and went to the dump. Some items that could be repaired but which the customers did not want went to various outlets. The work was varied and sometimes challenging and it fit well with the “fixit” mentality I had developed early on, which went back to my days in Carmichael and which found their way into Heartbreak Motel, one of my stories available at Nifty.

Come fall, I enrolled it SJS (now SJU) and discovered they had something called a “General Major” which led to a BA in “General Studies” (I think the program has long since been abandoned). Essentially, I could take courses in any department I wanted! I went back to Chemistry (my first love), but filled out the days with all sorts of other subjects: law, religion, music, physics, social studies, philosophy: I read the catalogue, and if a subject looked interesting I enrolled! It was a very interesting year-and-a-half: the extra semester was necessary to amass the necessary units and to pass, finally, the American History course I’d blown back in Junior College.

CONFUSION SETS IN

Soon after I entered San Jose State, Dad got married for the third and last time. My new stepmother and I did not get along all that well, but it was clear she loved my Dad and he loved her likewise: seeing him happy at last, I began to feel the usual family pressure to marry and settle down, despite my near-certainty a different life-style was preferable. So I began seeing the only girl who had ever paid much attention to me way back in High School: we had gone on a few trips with the Horseless Carriage Club together back when I was “into” old cars. No sooner than we got together on a couple of dates did I decide to propose marriage! I’ve really never figured out why I did this. I had absolutely NO interest in her physically: in fact, her body was quite repulsive to me when I saw more of it than I cared to when we went swimming.

Unfortunately, not long after this “affair” began, I recalled some of the descriptions of cruising I’d heard from my friend back at Redlands. One Saturday night I went to a local theater and sat in the very back row of the nearly empty place. A chap came in and sat right next to me and began a game of “kneesies”. When he departed, I followed him to the john, but invited him to follow me back to my little room. He was somewhat older than I, and no beauty, but it was he who first shoved a cock in my mouth: right there and then I knew I was born to be a cocksucker! I knew instinctively this was the kind of sexual activity I wanted, as often as possible!

My poor betrothed! She no longer had a chance! I maintained the charade for a while. Driving to visit her in Hayward, I would pick up hitch-hikers in the hope one would proposition me: none did. It slowly dawned on me that if I was ever going to have any guy-sex, I would have to initiate the action. It would be a while before I got comfortable with that idea.

Meanwhile, after about 6 months of living the lie, I called off our engagement. Darley was devastated, saying my being queer would not make any difference, and so forth and so on. But I was NOT going to put her through all that, so we parted, never to see each other again. When I announced to my folks what I’d done, my  new Stepmother’s reaction was, “Oh, thank goodness: for a while there, I thought you were really going through with it!”  She knew far more than she let on, but I continued to dissemble to my family out of worry they could not handle my being queer. In reality it was I who was having the trouble dealing with my sexuality.

MORGAN

During my first Semester at SJS, I met Morgan, a musician, and one of the most beautiful guys I ever met. He was a preacher’s son, and we got along famously, except for one thing: I wanted to get into his pants in the worst way, but was afraid of rejection, so I never could bring myself try it. We took some trips into the hills and did some camping together, but the subject of sex never came up, dammit! At the end of that year, he went off to Juilliard. We corresponded, and his letters came back filled with “hairpins”! It seems he had had the hots for me, but could never bring himself to say so. Bummer! However, when summer vacation time rolled around, he returned to San Francisco, stayed with his parents, and took a temporary job in a local church while their regular organist was on vacation.

After a joyous meeting at my place, where “all was revealed”, we fell into a routine where I would drive up to San Francisco in time to appear at the door of the church as if I had attended the service. When Morgan’s Postlude was finished, we would repair to a twinkie-bar for a couple of drinks (the speciality of the house was a “Thunder Collins”: Thunderbird wine watered with Collins-mix. Just the thought of it now makes me gag!) Then we would return to the church: the sunday-school room had a carpet on the floor, and we would have an afternoon of wild sex! Fortunately, no one ever came back for something they forgot: we were never interrupted.

But at the end of that summer, Morgan went back to Juilliard, and eventually settled in Chicago. I rarely ever saw him again. Our “relationship” had been entirely one of wild, crazy sex: there had been no thought of love, permanence, or anything except getting together and getting off!

To be continued: Finally, I come out!

[email protected]

Finally, I got to call myself a Senior! (Funny what a thrill that was then, but now that I’m a senior again, the appellation has lost its luster!) I pretty well had a lock on graduation, having managed to get passing grades in everything, even PE.

Secondary sexual characteristics were finally making their appearance, so with my body more nearly resembling my peers, and with them growing up and realizing the folly of beating up on a defenseless kid,  I was able to enjoy my final year in high school. My old Dodge made it into the yearbook,

though stuffed with people was a rare sight: my classmates for the most part thought I was really peculiar to have eschewed the popular Fords and Chevies they drove.

Though my “career” as a writer would come much later, I did do a lot of writing in  high school and college. I still have a large binder with my oeuvre from that time collected in it: looking over it now, I realize how clear it must have been to adult readers (teachers, councilors, and so forth) that I was queer: my regret is that it wasn’t equally clear to my classmates, who probably would have rewarded me with a lot of rampant cock, if only they had known! How I would have loved it, if only I had known.

My English Lit teacher was amused by several of my poems. The most famous one, submitted to (and rejected by) numerous contests was this quatrain:

The day was cold

The food was old:

Soon it was covered

With ugly mold.

Only slightly more serious, if a trifle  longer, was a parody (1951) on a famous poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

DIRT WITHOUT MUSIC

I am not resigned to the dumping of dirty dishes into the hot water.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been for time out of mind:

Into the water they go, the dirty, the greasy.

Crowned With bones and scrapings they go:

but I am not resigned.

Scraps and bones, into the garbage with you,

Be one with the gravy, the indescribable mess.

A fragment of what we ate, of what we chew,

A  tidbit, a morsel remains, but the best is eaten.

The celery crisp and green, the stewed tomatoes,the onions, the beets

They are gone. They are gone to feed the dogs.

Elegant and curled Is the broccoli. Fragrant is the broccoli.I know.

But I do not approve

More precious was the taste of that lamb than all the Four Roses of the world.

Down, down, down, into the suds of the dishwater

Gently they go, the greasy, the gummy, the gooey;

Quietly they go, the handle-less, the broken, the chipped

I know, but I do not approve, and I am not resigned.

So that year my mischievous nature asserted itself: I pulled off numerous pranks, harmless kid-stuff, which nevertheless greatly vexed the Dean of Boys, in whose office I found myself quite regularly. The man was a pompous fart who harangued me about such things as morality, living an upstanding life, and so forth (remember, he was convinced I was queer and active, but unaware that I was not even out to myself). He reported to my father regularly, and may have been surprised when Dad refused to chastise me for any of it: he knew I was just “feeling my oats” and testing the system, something quite normal for a late-blooming teen-ager. As for the Dean, he  became a role model (years later) for Newt Gingrich. The day after his wife announced she had cancer, he filed for divorce and took up with a young bimbo half his age. This was too much for red-neck Modesto: he was fired and run out of town. I went on to graduate, a gangly nerd with a lot of very strange habits, totally out of synch with my classmates.

This is me in rented drag for graduation.

To be continued … [email protected]

MISCELLANEOUS

• I read a lot of blogs, including some by youngsters dealing with finding themselves gay. Of course, every situation is different, so there’s no universal advice to be given. Except to say, “hang in: as my own blog will eventually relate, I figured things out to my own satisfaction and had a full and interesting life. It does take time…“

• While I empathize with these kids, I envy their ability to put together blog pages and web sites that are absolutely smashing! The process has pretty much defeated me so far. Maybe some cute young thing who likes old men (yeah, right!) will come along and give me a hand. With the blog, I mean…

• As it is developing, my format seems to be a chronological exposé of my life:  So far, I’m not even out of high school! But, the pace will pick up as I got out into the world. A buddy (well, he started out as a lover but things quickly degenerated) went to Europe the summer of 1963. This was my first glimpse into other life-styles. Later, I spent time in Vietnam, rode a motorcycle from Phnom-Penh to Singapore, worked in Australia, Philippines, Egypt, Ecuador and elsewhere, so there is much to tell. Here are a few photos to give you some idea of what’s in store:

Ready to depart Saigon, September, 1968, on a Honda CB-125

Ready to depart Saigon, September, 1968. I have two saddle-bags and a cheap suitcase strapped on the luggage rack. The bike is a Honda CB-125 bought used from a compatriot leaving the country. The national assembly building in the background had been hit by a rocket a week earlier: note the canvas roof, top right.

All wood Siemens Train, Athens 1979

These beautifully maintained all-wood Siemens train-sets were still in use in Athens in 1978. I loved riding them. I hope some have been preserved.

Guayaquil & Quito Railroad, Ecuador, 1979

Perched on the tender of Engine Number 11 of the Guayaquil & Quito railroad, Ecuador, 1979. I had a fabulous time riding almost everything they had working at the time. I went back in 1994 to find very little of it running, and now there seems to be almost nothing left.

• Throughout it all I was queer—not flaming, but not really hiding it either. I had my share of “interactions”, and have no regrets, now that things are winding down.

• The chronology will be interrupted from time to time by observations on the current scene, political or other sorts of rants, and whatever else occurs that I think worthy of note.

• WordPress has informed me three people have registered with my blog. You know who you are, and I hope you find my recollections entertaining. Someday I may find out how to give proper credit, but right now I remain a novice. I managed to figure out how to number the pages so they come in the right order, and that is a big accomplishment for a newbie. But for the time being my readers are stuck with the plain-jane WP theme. Any cuties out there wanna give me a hand?

To be continued …

HUA HIN TO CHUMPHON

Map of Thailand

Wednesday
9 October 1968

Following an early breakfast (there is one restaurant in Hua Hin that specializes—if you can call it that—in European food) I got on the road about 7:30. The day was spectacular—but of course in the tropics a beautiful day can degenerate quickly into a dreadful one; even the smallest cloud can suddenly drop prodigious quantities of water, and if one happens to be in the way, one gets wet. Today however it rained only once, & I had no more stopped & put on my rain coat than I drove out of it & had to stop again and shed. Had I known, I wouldn’t have bothered with the coat at all. From Hua Hin the road moves inland, through a series of large fertile valleys. Pineapples, bananas & coconuts appear to be the principal crops. The road has some ups and downs, but not much, as the hills are all low, but craggy and very pretty.

South Thailand Countryside, 1968

Driving along, I noticed a hill with a radio transmitting tower on top. As the road up there was not gated, I drove up for a wonderful view. This composite view gives a good idea of how the lush Thai countryside looked. Another view is below:

Road to Chumphon, South Thailand, 1968

There being little to delay me (except one very large lizard—nearly two feet long—that was crossing the road, and which I coasted quite close to before it saw me and disappeared into the bushes) I made unusually good time, arriving at Chumphon just before 1 PM!! Now, Chumphon is a division-point on the RSR [Royal Siam Railroad], so most of my afternoon was spent in the rail yards—and much of this evening as well. I shot up most of a roll of film, losing (for sure) only one or two, I hope, when the camera jammed a bit. It rained around 4, so I took the opportunity to wash up and take the camera apart. These Kodak gadgets are as much glued together as held any other way; although I began the trip with a tube of glue, it long since sprang a leak & had to be discarded. So I had to scout around here and find some glue, which I managed alright, and the camera is now back together, its critical part cleaned of dirt & lubricated.

NOTE TO READERS: Like any other railroad division point, Chumphon was a busy place. The station and yards were then out of town a ways, up a gently sloping divided road. In the median-strip there were several preserved locomotives on permanent display: their running-lights were wired for electricity and lit up at night. It was a lovely scene, but wouldn’t you know: the two photos I took were ruined when the camera jammed. I doubt if there is any trace of those locomotives left now.

Locomotives in the wood-pile! Chumphon, 1968

Strange things happen to luggage on a motorbike. Everything packs down into remarkably little space in the course of a day, but once disturbed it can’t be put back again. Pills disintegrate unless packed very tightly with cotton. Some toilet-paper I used to pad my shaving gear in its little plastic box is now a mass of shredded paper. Plastic bottles can chafe on something & wear right through, and tooth-paste tubes will do the same. It can all get pretty messy!

Already a change in plans is contemplated, I can no longer resist and if all goes well, I shall take the 7 am train to Phunphin, hopefully returning the same day. Phunphin is a town I do not otherwise expect to reach, but of course that is not the real reason for going there! Since I don’t want to miss what looks like a lovely (perhaps wet, but lovely) mountainous crossing to Ranong  by moto, the train trip will be a round-trip side-trip. We’ll see how it goes. Unless I get to bed soon, I’ll never wake up in time, so…

More tomorrow,

Bruce

NOTE TO READERS: I am having some problems with the software, so will break this post now and continue on the next page. Please bear with me: I’m not much of a computer whiz at all. By the way: the big lizard was a Monitor Lizard, and the only one I saw!

I spent more than a week in and around Siem Reap. Now, I am surprised to find on-line references to many of the places and temples I visited. I’ve selected one link for some in the material which follows, but anyone wishing to learn more can cut and paste the names into google and find much more information. Bear in mind that in the forty years since I was there, some changes have certainly occurred.

One thing I had not realized until I got to Siem Reap:  Angkor Wat, is the most extraordinary of a large group of Wats, most of them located in the same general area. In fact, there are numerous temples all over Cambodia, Wat Nokor being the first I encountered. In the rainy season in 1968, many of the more remote temples were beyond reach except by water buffalo and cart! I tried to reach one or two, but the motorcycle met its match on flooded roads and mud churned up by herds of water B’s.

Here is a letter I wrote when about to depart Siem Reap for Thailand: following the letter is a group of diary entries which are more detailed and interesting.

23 Sept 68
Dear Everyone~

Unfortunately, I seem to have lost track of just when I wrote last. Probably Phnom Penh. I spent four more delightful days in that charming capital, taking several tours around thereabouts. Got on some really wonderful back roads, where I’m sure my appearance on a “moto” was as startling to the natives as a green martian would be to me. But the reception was, always, courteous and friendly. Got to Prey Veng & Kampong Cham, the latter a very charming city on the banks of the Mekong, & with Wat Nokor  (contemporary with Angkor) nearby.

Then off to Kampong Thom. Stayed overnight there, but not much to see other than a local zoo) of all things!) that had some interesting beasts & birds. Pressed on (through some rain) & arrived in Siem Reap Wed the 18th. Except for a brief excursion to Battambang on the 20-21st, I’ve been here ever since, and day after tomorrow, alas, I have to go on.

Angkor is simply not to be believed—except that is very much here to be seen. The various temples and ruins are incredible, both in their dimensions, and in their decor. The feat of simply cutting and piling the necessary stones to make Angkor Wat, for instance, is fantastic enough; but then every square inch of the whole thing inside AND out was carved and decorated—a  process that must have taken years. I wish only there were some artists’ renderings or scale models available to show what the temple looked like in their hey-day. Since all the wood involved has disappeared, and since virtually all the colors used on the relief-work have similarly disappeared, one really has to use his imagination to see the temples in their more complete state. One of the most fascinating of the group is Ta Prohm, which has been left largely as it was re-discovered, still greatly over-grown by the jungle. Seeing it as it is now, one can more readily see how temples even as large as Angkor Wat were “lost” in the jungle—it is amazing how it swallows things up. Poking around in this rubble one can almost get the same sensation the discoverers of the 1860s must have had.

Siem Reap is remarkably unspoiled despite the tourist flow. Right now, probably the worst time to see the ruins because of weather, there are marvelously few tourists here. So the town in quiet—except for the calls of jillions of frogs in some nearby [marshy] areas near the Hotel here. Altogether, very restful place. Although it rains nearly every afternoon for a couple of hours, this is no trouble, since  having started the day around 6 am (to get the best light in the ruins) one is generally quite ready for a siesta come 3 or 4 o’clock!

And everywhere, the wonderful Khmer people, who have just got to be one of the world’s most unspoiled and delightful ethnic sub-groups. Their friendliness and good nature are matchless; the only “danger” in this country is that of falling in love with it and its people. It will be truly with regret that I push on to Thailand, though I may find the Thai’s friendly as well.

The Honda runs beautifully—even through water 2½ feet deep! The only mishap so far has been one unexpected bump that I took rather too fast on a remote track somewhere between Angkor and Beng Mealea; the violent rebound brought the luggage rack and the tail-light into smart contact, smashing the latter. Not even a flat tire yet, and I’ve driven over 2000 km since arriving in P.Penh! The enclosed map shows my routes to date. As you can see, I couldn’t make the whole circle of the Tonle Sap—just not enuf time!

Much love~
Bruce

Here is the Map I Actually Carried, Marked with My Routes

DIARY ENTRIES: Sunday,15TH [SEPTEMBER, 68] Off to a somewhat later start than desirable, about 9. The road to Svey Reng is not too bad—about 40 mph except in the villages. Made Svey Reng, after about 1/2 hour wait for the ferry, about 12. Not much to see here, but the flooded country-side is beautiful!! Ride across the Mekong pretty, but takes only about 5 minutes. [Retraced my route back across the M again, then turned north on Highway 25 and] Pushed on to Kampong Cham, which is quite a large city on the banks of the Mekong, and very pretty. The ruins of Wat Nokor are just outside of town. Between S R and K C I went through a large rubber plantation—the trees are being tapped now, and they are dropping their nuts, which hit the pavement with a loud noise. Between K C and Skoun saw 4 elephants—photographed one group of 3. A third ferry (not on map) across the Mekong put me about 30 km out of P.Penh at sundown, and when the sun goes down here, the bugs go up!! Very buggy from there on to P.Penh. Got sun/wind burn on face and legs rather badly. Will see how I feel after a night’s rest, but doubt I want to go all the way to Pursat tomorrow. Maybe to Kg. Chhnang. Will see.

First Mekong Crossing – Road to Svey

Elephants and the Gent Approaching Asked for Payment for the Photo.

Awaiting Ferry to Kg.Cham – On Ferry, Bikes Take First Place

Bicyclettes Awaiting Our Arrival, Kg. Cham

Passenger Ferry, Kg. Cham – Approaching the Far Shore of the Mekong

Monday 16th: I awakened early after a good night’s sleep assisted by a vitamin pill & a darvon tablet. Face too sore to shave, but legs (except ankles) not bad except in looks. Face not uncomfortable—just thought it better not to risk messing it up really badly by shaving. But I really don’t feel like the trip to Pursat—too far for round-trip in one day, and Kg. Chhnang will have to wait until my next trip here.

Instead, I took off with a “guide” for Odong. It was a very leisurely trip, passing Kg. Lovor. Parked at the bottom of the Phnom & climbed the time-worn steps to top of the hill. Said hello to Buddha. Spent three hours up there, with the guide; very pleasant. Back to Kg. Lovor for Pepsis, then leisurely back to P.Penh. Released the guide. Expensive, but helpful and spoke rather good English. Tonight I will have my last Cambodian Beefsteak at the Champey Siemreap, & visit with the French Peace-Corps worker I met on the ferry to Svey Reng.

BACKSTORY: The chap I spent most of my time with in Phnom Penh introduced me to a guide, who made it clear from the start that his fees included sex. He was one of the most handsome guys I ever met anywhere! Taller than most Khmers, I might have thought he was part-Thai, but of course the ethnic groups in this part of the wold rarely inter-marry. He assured me, using better-than-average english, that he was all Khmer with a blatant grope of his crotch. So, every population has its out-liers, and his height was not a problem, despite my preference (ordinarily) for smaller boy-toy types. I’d have gone with him even if he was ten feet tall: he was that handsome! We rode two-up to Oudong: he put his arms around me to hold on (the only safe way to ride two-up on a motorcycle) but was not above letting his hands wander, so it might be said we rode just “up” all the way. There is a long stairway up to the top of the Phnom, and there were many folks around. After the customary homage to Buddha, we chose a round-about path down the forested hill, and eventually found a warm clearing where we could lie on the leafy litter and enjoy each other as swarms of monkeys chattered in the canopy above. Having been kept in a state of anticipation all morning, the “event” when it arrived was extremely messy but satisfying. The guide really was “taller than most Khmers”—everywhere!

Somewhere in Cambodia

Banks of the Mekong, MC Mirror in Foreground.

Oudong, Cambodia

BACKSTORY: At the restaurant that night, the cook, evidently the “Director’s” wife, brought out a live turtle and showed it to me. He explained that she wished to prepare the beast for me, but I demurred. If she had just brought it to table prepared, I’d have eaten it, I expect, possibly without even knowing what it was. But I was unable to look the beast in the face and admit I could eat it. I settled for the usual beefsteak, which was delicious with the pile of watercress she always put under it.

Tuesday, 17 Sept: Trip to Kg. Thom uneventful. Rain in the afternoon. Kg. Thom, situated on the River Sen is about 2000 people. Pretty place, but I can’t see what keeps it going. Its chief claim to fame seems to be its zoo. Stayed at the Bungalow, where the rooms are too expensive and the mosquitoes fierce! Gekkos are fat here, though. No really good restaurant.

BACKSTORY: The zoo at K. T. was quite extensive, and I saw birds and beasts there I’d never seen before. I also saw a lot of town-folk and children visiting: as it was Tuesday, I surmised there was some local holiday, for otherwise the children would have been in school. Well off the beaten track here, I was the object of many stares—none unfriendly—there were literally dozens of handsome youngsters, any of which I would have entertained given the opportunity. Alas, the opportunity never arose. It pains me beyond measure to realize there were horrors that awaited them of which we all were oblivious at the time.

Wednesday, 18 Sept: Awoke early after a good sleep. Departed Kg. Thom about 6:30 am, without breakfast. Soon got into rain, which I more or less followed for about 2/3 of the way to Siem Reap. Stopped frequently to let the rain get ahead of me, but got into some heavy rain in spite of that. Arrived S R just before noon. Had soupe Cambodienne at a small restaurant, then checked into the Hotel de la Paix. Changed to dry clothes. Rain stopped, temperature up a little, and overcast. Went immediately to Angkor Wat, spent about 2-1/2 hrs there doing a quick tour. Then the circle trip, stopping only briefly at most of the temples. Back to the Hotel for dinner & then to the Grand Hotel for free movies.

I am peeling everywhere; my face is a mess & my nose has peeled so frequently I am amazed there is anything left of it!

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BACKSTORY: As I departed Kg. Thom early, I was suddenly aware of horrible screams of terror so powerful I had to pull over and wait as the pitiful sounds got closer. Around the corner came a fellow pedaling a beychek in the seat of which was a huge pig trussed in stout strips of split-bamboo. The pig was very unhappy, and probably on his way to slaughter.

Coming up: In and around Angkor. Stay tuned!