scam – Juanito's Travels

Juanito’s Travels 50-Yr-Backpacker – 1995 New Delhi India without a visa but with a little scam Pt18 (not pt IX of Star Wars)

March 2023

There’s risks with nostalgia. Stuart, from the biodynamic farm, Inisglas, I first stayed on when I visited Wexford, Ireland, told me: “never look back”. I perhaps interpret that as never hold onto the past. Anyway Stuart said lots of things and was against floppy discs and technology in general so I will ignore Stuart and go back to reflecting on a trip from 27, now 28 years ago. Though Stuart did have a point of the need to move forward. Sometimes I want to try and recapture the spirit I had back then in 1995 rather than move on. But I also like to remember.

Patrick Leigh Fermor looked back on his trip walking from Holland to Constantinople in the early 30s in a trilogy starting with A Time of Gifts. That was a nice reflection, not trying to change the past, just remembering. It’s a nice slow read with some interesting details of the past. A Time of Gifts wasn’t published until 1977. That was the year Star Wars IV: A New Hope was first released in cinemas.

Star Wars IV: A New Hope is a very good film. One of the best of all times. It has a very simple story, lots of action. It had the character of Hammerhead, the best supporting character ever to appear in a film. I wrote a fan fiction featuring him in a story I wrote: Cuba: with Hammerhead the star of Star Wars: A New Hope. I bought an action figure of Hammerhead in the late seventies when I went to Toombul shopping centre in Brisbane with my grandfather. My cousin Alistair told me I should be getting all the main figures before I started getting the more obscure ones. But Alistair’s family was rich, I had to choose more carefully, and I couldn’t go past a dude with a head like a hammerhead.

Star Wars IV brings back wonderful childhood memories that I love to reflect on. I still have a Hammerhead action figure (even with the original weapon), along with a Jawa and Greedo. Now in 2023, I am faced with the nightmare of Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, one of the most disappointing films I’ve ever seen. EP VII was okayish, EP VIII got worse and was a waste of however long it took to watch it, maybe 2 hours or something. Then came Ep. IX: a confusing nostalgic homage to a great trilogy that began in 1977, and has still, yet to be surpassed. A New Hope brought so much hope. Then the hopes were slowly destroyed. Years later the originally released trilogy was followed by a prequel trilogy which did have their moments, they were ok, even looked like they were going to be good, but then Annikan just walked around being grumpy and frumpy all the time like some petulant child and in the end it just got shitter and shitter. And then came the abyss of the trilogy sequel, where the only stars were those from the 1977 film, including two non-human, non-droid stars, the Death Star and the Millennium Falcon. Those began the era where the writers couldn’t get away from their nostalgia for what was once good, where not one new idea was created, where they created another Death Star, like they had been stuck in the tractor beam of that original Death Star since 1977, which meant the best they could do was now create a new Death Star which was now the size of a planet.

The sequel is full of characters who die and then come back to life and save lightsabers from being chucked into fires and having chats with their sons. Where Palpatine comes back to life and wants to take over the universe again and the character Stoke or Snoke or something was really Palpatine. Where all the actors can do is keep yelling out “Poe!” or whatever. They’re always yelling! When Luke yelled it sounded like he was yelling for a reason. When the new ones yell I’m left asking: What the feck are they yelling about? And they just keep flying around to places to find some triangle thing which will show them how to get to some other place they need to go to to destroy a new star fleet filled with star cruisers which, like the Death Star, can destroy whole planets, but like there’s heaps of them, thousands or something – must be cheaper in CGI to just make one and then copy it hundreds of times. I couldn’t tell you how Ep. IX ends, I’ve struggled to get halfway through it and not sure I can bear the pain any more.

But enough of the horrific side of nostalgia and back to my own reflections of adventures past, in the lead up to my new adventures in a few weeks.

1995: Maybe November

After the 20 odd days in France at the Vipassana meditation centre, and hitchhiking from Paris to London with Beth, it was time to try and make my way back to Australia.

My Thai Airways ticket had options to stop in India and Thailand on the way. I had to stop in Bangkok, even just to change planes. India was an optional stop. All I wanted to do was go home, but when I booked my ticket in Paris, at a travel agent, before the time of online bookings, before leaving for London, they only had a seat available to New Delhi, India, where I’d have to wait at least a week before getting another seat from India to Bangkok, then Bangkok to Melbourne. I’d at least only have to spend one night in London before heading off.

I had about £80 to cover the 16,800 kms from London to Melbourne. I spent around £10-15 staying a night in London. I probably got a slice of pizza for a couple of pounds. I had to get out of London otherwise I’d go broke: Down and Out in Paris and London. London felt that way at the moment, I felt I had a pretty good time in Paris. I always love Paris. My friend Howie wasn’t too impressed with it. He also thought Laos was so-so. I’ll be finding out about Laos at the end of April (2023).

My first leg back to Australia via New Delhi posed another challenge. My visa for India, which I got before leaving Australia, had expired. It was one of those ones that went from the day you stamped it and this one lasted 3 months. The three months were up about 3 months or so ago. I looked at getting another visa but it cost £20 and would take 2 days to get. I couldn’t afford 2 more nights in London or the £20 for the visa. Figuring if they caught me in New Delhi they’d deport me towards Australia I thought I’d just risk it. I wasn’t too worried about deportation at that point having almost been deported the first day arriving in London at the beginning of my trip.

I got up early the next day and was heading into the tube somewhere around Earls Court, perhaps Earls Court station around 5.30am. I think I had to wait a little until the first train to Heathrow. I looked at tickets out to the airport and it cost something ridiculous like £12. Maybe it was only £6, but it felt like a fortune at the time and any amount I spent meant breaking a precious £ note and getting coins which couldn’t be converted to rupee in India. Even though it would take a big hit from my remaining funds I couldn’t bring myself to jump the gate. Better to get out of the place with a little less money than get arrested on the way to the airport.

They didn’t ask to see my Indian visa when I was checking in to the plane with my blue backpack, and by mid-morning I was heading in the right direction on my final legs. I was out of Europe.

I slept a fair bit on the way to New Delhi and I didn’t feel too bad when I got there. I lined up for immigration when I arrived and a big scary looking man with a big hipster – before hipsters really took off 20 years later – moustache looked at my passport, he looked at me, he looked closely (apparently) at my expired visa then looked at me again, then without a word he stamped my passport and let me enter India. I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Whatever’ I thought, if they let me in, that’s on them. Now I’d just have to wait it out in India for a week or so. At least it was a place where my remaining £40 could get me somewhere. But of course it wasn’t going to be that easy and I was about to fall for another small scam, within my first minutes of arriving. This wasn’t a scam of the scale I’d had in Bangkok on the way over to Europe but it still cost me a bit.

I walked out of the terminal and was hit by the heat and the haze of dust glowing with pinks, purples and oranges of an Indian sunset. I was entering what seemed to be the largest, most chaotic car park in the universe. There were thousands and thousands of cars, and even more thousands of people, cooking things, selling things, yelling at each other, yelling at me, trying to get me to take a taxi. I was pretty sure there were a few donkeys and perhaps an elephant in amongst the throng. There were a lot of cows and dogs for sure.

I chose a taxi about 50 metres from the exit. I asked the driver to take me to the backpacker area which I knew was around Connaught Place. We drove along a very long dusty road, there were more cows, many more people, and more dogs around.

“Sir, that area of Connaught Place is dangerous at the present time. We have Hindu/ Muslim troubles. It is not safe. I can take you to a nice safe area, with nice hotel”.

It was before the times of the internet so there was no way to check if there really was Hindu/ Muslim troubles. I kind of doubted it, and felt a bit like a scam was coming on, but figured I could probably cover a hotel for a couple of days while I waited for the $200 to be sent to me from Australia via Western Union, which I’d asked my family to lend me before leaving Europe. So I went where the guy took me.

When I got to the hotel I explained to them that I was waiting on money and could fix them up when that arrived in the next few days. I rang my sister and she even tried to pay for the hotel with a credit card. But it was 1995, and the hotel guys wouldn’t take a credit card, they wanted cold hard cash. There wasn’t even an ATM around to get cash transferred and withdrawn. So I just had to wait. The hotel agreed to put me up for an unspecified amount. I knew I’d be hit with an unrealistically high bill but I had a roof over my head for a few days, until my money got transferred, and it was a pretty good roof, a fairly decent hotel.

I did get out for a walk on my own in the early morning and explored the neighbourhood a bit. There were some guys making yoghurt out in the open street with milk from cows that were wandering around eating marigolds and cardboard from rubbish heaps. There was a guy with a dancing bear trying to get money from people. The kind of scene you see on those animal cruelty ads on TV – if you watch TV anymore. I got a photo of the first street I saw with a lady in a sari walking down it and a dog in the smoggy haze. Like today it’s a very polluted city. They need electric cars. Which I’m sure they’ll have by the next time I visit.

After the first night the hotel must have gotten nervous that maybe this hippy wouldn’t pay up. They kept a minder around for me to make sure I didn’t run off without paying. It was a bit awkward. The hotel took me around to a few highlights of New Delhi. I went to the Red Fort for a bit. There was a sad looking cobra in a little basket and a million people, cows, dogs, and perhaps even a donkey or camel. It was insane. The actual fort provided a little break from the craziness. I looked up and in one of those arched windows typical of Mughal architecture a woman was brushing her long silky hair oblivious to the throng of people and the noise down below.

A couple of young German guys arrived at the hotel and were staying in the room next to me. I ended up buddying up with them a bit. I find the young Germans can be so enthusiastic and often bound with joy and energy – just like us young Australians (True Blue or otherwise – see previous post if you don’t get that bit). One of the guys climbed over the balcony which was adjacent to mine and scared the shit out of me when he opened the glass door from the outside. I was ready to stab him with the Swiss Army knife I’d gotten from Corrine the year before, and which I always carried with me, which was even allowed on the planes in those days. He invited me out for some food. They wanted to go to some fancy place, but I still had very little money and had been going to the cheapest places I could find. I took them across the road, somehow slipping away from my minder and took them to a place that sold these vegetable patty things in soft white bread for about 4 rupees each – maybe 10 or 20 cents. I was really making sure the £20 or whatever I had left worth of rupees would last me until the money transfer arrived. I also had one traveller’s cheque left which was a small note, maybe another $20AUD. I don’t know what happened with the German guys, I think they were just there for a night.

The hotel guys kept taking me to the Western Union office to see if my transfer had come through. I didn’t tell them how much I’d asked for. When, on the morning of the third day the money still hadn’t arrived, they kicked me out of my room but said I could stay with the hotel staff workers. That was an interesting experience, they drove me around to an area of New Delhi I’d never have seen as a tourist, I suppose a typical local area. The workers all stayed in one room and we all had dhal and chapatis for dinner, sitting on the floor, just using our hands and the chapatis to scoop up the dhal. I was happy with that. There were about 4-5 hotel workers in the room. I think they didn’t just work at the hotel, they also worked for the hotel’s associated travel agency, but I wasn’t clear about that. I’d seen most of them over the last few days, often they’d be napping in the car they drove me around in, or napping on couches in the small travel agency office which they’d taken me to when they got sick of my money not arriving, to hang around. After dinner they rolled out some mats and the 5-6 of us slept on the floor taking up most of the space in the room. Years later my mum, son and daughter rented an AirBnB in Shinjuku, Tokyo which claimed to be able to sleep as many people in about the same space. Read more about the shonky Shinjuku AirBnB and our trip to the snow monkeys.

Possibly on the morning of the 4th day when my minders took me to the Western Union office again my money had arrived! And I had my $200! I got some cash and the rest in traveller’s cheques I think. Well I must have ended up with a few more travellers checks – which would again pose a few problems over the next few days, but I’ll come to that.

With my $200 I could finally free myself from my minders. I went back to the travel agent and braced myself for the bill, knowing it would be a lot. The travel agent guy did some sums, adding up trips to the red fort, hotel accommodation etc, I’m pretty sure he was just Putin random numbers into a calculator that would add up to the sum he had in his head, and then he announced, “$200 USD”.

Having mentally prepared myself for this moment I unleashed a tirade of abuse: “You fucking scammers, there is no way that place is worth $200 USD, my father is a diplomat (posing as a semi-retired carpenter driving taxis on the Gold Coast) and you’ll be in big trouble.” I was playing a role I’d rehearsed in my head for days, make as much noise and fuss as possible and keep whatever money I needed to survive the rest of my Indian leg at least. “I don’t have that fucking money, I only have $100 AUD and that is all I will pay which is still probably double what I actually owe you scammers” and blah, blah, blah. I felt kinda bad as I’m not usually like that but I needed to look after myself. The lower level workers who’d shared a floor with last night just gathered around, interested in the entertainment on an Aussie going ballistic.

“Enough with your fuckings this and fuckings that, you are being a very rude person”, said the travel agent guy and he took the $100 AUD, form his lack of protest I could tell I was being well and truly fleeced even at that price, but less fleeced that I would have been so I was ok with that. After the exchange was done and the yelling died down I said, “sorry, I’m just tired and want to get out of here”. He just looked at me. But it wasn’t quite done. I still didn’t have my luggage. The boss guy sent a worker off to get it. I don’t know where it was but it seemed to take a long time to get it. I was starving so I asked if there was any food around. The boss guy signalled to one of the workers to go get me something. He came back with some dhal in a clay pot. I gave him about 5-10 rupees. I was starving so I just ate the dhal with my fingers. The boss guy looked at me and said, “without chapati, what a waste”.

It was an awkward wait around with the travel agency guys. They kept giving me dirty looks because of all my swearing and carrying on. It was worth it to have $100 in my pocket. When the bag arrived I headed straight to Connaught Place to find a cheap backpackers to stay. There weren’t any Muslim/ Hindu problems. At least none that made it unsafe at the moment.

50-Year-Old Backpacker; Blog; A Juanito’s Travels Chranicle. Bangkok Sapphires. Buyer Beware. BlogPt3

1995, March

I don’t recall the details of the plane trip to Bangkok. I doubt I slept, I may have read or watched something. I don’t know how we watched things in those days, there were no screens on the back of seats or devices to watch your own downloaded content. Perhaps someone got a 16mm film projector out and chucked on Jaws, or Flying High.

I don’t recall the details of getting to Khao San Road either, nor how I knew that Khao San Road was the place to go for backpackers like myself to find backpacker friendly accommodation. I think I’d just asked the taxi driver where backpackers go to stay, in the same way you may ask where flamingos like to congregate, and he said something in that Thai accent I never get tired of listening to. To be honest I probably didn’t understand what he said, I’d never heard of Khao San Road, I just trusted he’d take me where I needed to go, so I said, ‘that sounds good, take me there’.

Nowadays, I feel the taxi drivers might take you to some flash place where they’d get a big tip from the hotel, assuming anyone just rocks up to places these days and ask taxi drivers their opinion on where they should stay, and haven’t just booked every step of the way online already, which is often tempting, especially in new cities after long flights, though limiting in terms of having a real adventure, or getting bargains on last minute accommodation.

I arrived on Khao San Road at night, or in the early hours of the morning. It was after midnight I’m sure. The taxi driver dropped me off at the end of the street, and I made my way through a few night shift spruikers spruiking their hotels and hostels. I found a place for 40 baht a night (around $1.65 Australian) down an alley off the Main Street. The room had a balsa-strength door you could have kicked in without bruising a toe, or even pushed it in with the strength of two or three fingers. I left my camera in my backpack in the room, figuring no self respecting robber would bother robbing someone who paid 40 baht a night for a room.

I was soon to find that Thais have other ways of fleecing you besides nicking your camera.

thai Mona Lisa Bangkok gem scam 1995

Around 2-3 am, maybe, I went out exploring a bit. I suddenly felt like taking up smoking again after not smoking for almost a year. I bought a packet of Thai cigarettes off a guy manning a little stand with bits and pieces. The cigarettes were perhaps 25 or 30 baht. Maybe sitting in the smoking section on the plane coming from Australia brought on the desire for nicotine again. I had one and it was nice.

It was hot. Even in shorts and a t-shirt and in the early hours of the morning, it was hot. I was sweating. Some street vendors were still open with their owners sitting about in the cool air, by flaming woks, or knick-knacks and cigarettes, some smoking cigarettes, on plastic stools with sandals planted on the ground, some with alley kittens brushing past their legs, relaxed and wide awake. The smell of fish sauce and stir-fried vegetables hung in the air. The honking of car horns and the puttering of tuk-tuk engines echoed through the alleys. Little nooks and crannies were taken up by small bars, eateries, and entries to hotels and hostels, dimly lit, like a scene from Blade Runner, some open, some closed.

Bangkok was a 24 hour affair, a big city, the biggest I’d ever been in, an invigorating culture shock after the quiet year I’d spent planting trees and tending to goats on the Brock’s farm in Nutfield where we didn’t even have street lighting and the nearest neighbours were a few kilometres away. Actually Corinne and I had almost got lost one night when we went for a ride and couldn’t remember which road to take to get back to the Brock’s farm. Bev had put all the lights on in their house on the hill like a beacon on a hill which helped us make our way the last few kilometres.

After having my first brief look at Bangkok I went back to the room and slept for a couple of hours, barely a wink though with the excitement of the new city, the first time I’d been overseas on my own, a blank slate and adventure ahead, keeping my mind racing. I got up just before sunrise and headed out exploring the orange haze of the city. This time I brought my camera along, a spritely spring in my Scarpa covered feet.

I walked down the end of the street, past a group of waiting tuk-tuks, spruiking their wares. I think I’d cashed some traveller cheques at the airport, or somewhere so I had a few hundred baht to explore the town. I had no idea of where to go or what to see. I just walked around.

I found a little place with plastic tablecloths and plastic stools, to have some breakfast. I had an authentic Thai noodley thing. I’d picked up a map from the tourist stall on Khao San Road which I unfolded and studied as I ate my noodles. I saw the King’s Palace was just down the road. After my noodles I headed down that way.

I don’t know the exact moment when it happened. I’m sure it was somewhere near the King’s Palace, maybe just outside its walls. It’s all a blur now as the events to come were both distressing and embarrassing. Very cringe-worthy. Especially for me. But, at some point this very friendly Thai man appeared. He was well dressed and polite, and started a friendly chat. If you’ve read any warnings on scams from Thailand or South-east Asia in guidebooks that description alone should ring scamming alarm bells.

But back then I was a young, trusting man with brand new Italian walking shoes, but without one of those touristy ‘guidebooks’, who was having his first morning by himself overseas, in a big bustling Asian city, far from home. I was excited. Bangkok is an amazing city. I was open to new ideas, to approaches from strangers. This was a Buddhist country after all, and I am practically a Buddhist now myself I felt, having taken my Vipassana meditation course last year and keeping up regular meditation whilst on the farm in Nutfield. The Buddhist followed a few simple rules, one of which was not to take that which isn’t given to you. I now think they may have found a loophole when it came to just convincing people to hand over shit by their own volition.

Friendly Thai guy asked where I was from and what I did for a living and all those get-to-know-you small talk things that scammers do with a big broad smile.

Travellers note: first day’s in cities are often the time travellers are most fleeced. Like my wife and my first day in Havana, Cuba many years later where my wife was convinced to buy cigars and rum for around $100 USD, where maybe we should have paid $25 or $15. A trippy version of our Cuba trip is available here.

‘I’d like to see some authentic Thai stuff’ I said, or words to that effect. Of course ‘Friendly Man’ could help me out with that.

In a matter of moments we were heading away from the King’s palace. Crossing 8 lanes of traffic. Heading into Chinatown. We sat down at a restaurant. ‘You want something to eat, I pay for you’ he said with a broad grin. How nice I thought, what a gentleman. But I wasn’t hungry that soon after breakfast. I got a drink anyway, just to be polite. The nice man got to talking about how he could organise a good deal for a boat trip to look at Thai temples along the river.

‘I get you good deal on boat and temples, very cheap’, he said with nearly all his (fake) smiley teeth showing. I had barely taken a sip of my drink and before I was whisked to a wharf with a boat at the ready – as though they were waiting there for me.

2017

My daughter and I are taken to a place in Chinatown and they try and convince us to pay hundreds of dollars for a private boat. You can read about that here.

Back in 1995. I coughed up a little money, it wasn’t hundreds of dollars, pretty reasonable actually, maybe $15. We went down some canals and onto the main river. It was all very exciting. I even took a photo of my scammer in front of some riverside houses on stilts on the river. I think I ended up chopping him out of it years later.

I visited a beautiful temple on the river – which my daughter and I also visited years later – for maybe an hour as the man and the boat waited outside for me, and then went to a nice Thai restaurant across the river and the nice man paid for a nice lunch for me. It was all exciting and new, and amazing. Nothing untoward at this stage.

At some point over lunch, the nice man indicated he could get me a good deal on gemstones. It seemed to come out of nowhere.

‘I take you get good deal on gemstone, good quality, you sell them in London on Bond Street, double your price, easy money’.

Easy money I thought, or did I think, I don’t know. You’re probably guessing by now I was incredibly gullible and stupid, but hey I didn’t have much money and then this guy was letting me in on a deal where I could double my money! Wow, too good to be true. Though even with those thoughts part of me was still sceptical. But I was able to overcome the scepticism. I’d heard of Bond Street, it was on the monopoly board! And it seemed likely gems were cheaper in Thailand as everything else was. I mean I could get a room for 40 baht! Maybe it was true?

We made our way to the gem store. Immediately on walking in the door I was greeted by another smiling Thai guy in on the racket. Seemed like he’d just been there waiting for me. It was a well organised operation. He showed me photocopies of other tourists’ passports who’d bought gems and went to London to double their money. He showed me a range of different sapphires and indicated a few prices. They looked nice and real. I was getting into this idea, as risky as it sounded.

‘What your budget?’ he asked.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ I said, maybe $150′.

‘Oh no, you can’t buy $150’, he showed me some gems and clicked some numbers on a calculator and it was all in baht and had a number of zeroes, ‘for this you get 5 sapphires’.

‘I don’t have that much, that’s a lot’, I said.

‘No problem, you sell on Bond Street, trust me, easy money, good quality’.

‘Are you allowed to do this?’

‘Yes, yes, no problem, I take your passport and fill in details, you go get money, no problem. I send to London so no problem with customs.’ He whisked my passport off and got the appropriate paperwork filled out.

I must have had some trepidation, but in the end, I was a naive young backpacker, I lacked sleep, and I was quickly getting reeled in by the slick and persuasive pressure tactics which didn’t leave me much time to think. It wasn’t long until I was in the bank accompanied by original ‘nice’ (bastard) Thai man cashing almost all of my traveller’s cheques. I just remember bits and pieces.

Thinking about it now, it was not like me to be that reckless. But there I was with a bunch of cash in hand getting a supposed deal of a lifetime. I’d somehow lucked upon it, just as I had lucked on getting the job with the Brocks. The universe was providing for me again. I should just go with it. So we went back to the gem store and I handed over the money and the gem store guy said he was going to send the gems registered post to London general post office, post restante, and I even saw him put them in the envelope. Transaction over, I was quickly whisked out of the shop and the nice man dumped me on some corner near Chinatown and with less of a smile, as though dumping a kidnapping victim after their families had paid the ransom.

I came to my senses for a moment. I still had some questions I needed to ask the gem store salesperson. So somehow I found my way back to the gem store, even though they’d driven me around in a circle to try and disorientate me. When I walked through the front door. They looked like they’d seen a ghost. Obviously, in retrospect, they’d hoped they’d confused my sense of direction to the point where I would never find my way back.

They answered my questions, yes the gems would be there in a few days, no problem. Don’t worry. I looked at the shop, it was just like the jewellery stores in Australia. The man assured me the gems would arrive no later than next Thursday (or something like that) and that they did this all the time, no problem, and then I was quickly pushed out of the shop again. I was left with the promise of 5 sapphires being sent to me in London and just a couple of small note traveller’s cheques left. I looked at my receipt for the gems. Geez, I don’t know I’m sure I wasn’t drugged, but the lack of sleep was as bad as 4-5 joints in terms of affect on my judgement by this stage.

My nervousness rose, I now only had maybe as little as $150. Bangkok was cheap so it would be enough to get me to London to get my cash for my sapphires. So I waited, nervously. I sat at cafes each day on Khao San Road watching videos and eating beautiful vegetarian stir-fries. I walked through the markets and visited the local buddhist temple down the street to help feed the monks. I even went back to the King’s Palace and went inside. I was stressed by my lack of finances but even with that small amount I was still able to comfortably pay for an hour-long massage every day for 20-30 baht. So while in Bangkok, I could still survive. I was fine. For now.

I did need my sapphires though so I decided to bring my flight forward a few days so I could get them as soon as they arrived in London. Then I could go to Bond Street and double my money, or at least get some of my money back.

I think I was in Bangkok another three or four nights. I was originally going to stop off in Kathmandu on the way to London but there was no time, nor money, for that now, so I arranged to fly straight to London.

In the few days I was still in Bangkok I had another smiley Thai man approach me. I must have looked like a ripe fruit ready for the plucking and screwing over or something. He walked around with me a bit, chatting and asking a few questions. He showed me a nice shopping centre not far from Khao San Road where you could get cheap fake rolexes and other false designers. In casual conversation he brought up the idea of going to a gem store. I said I’d already been and got some so I had no money left. While I had my back turned for a moment he disappeared in the crowd. I was more worried now.

Many years later my beautiful wife and I took a trip to Heron Island, an amazing little island on the Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, Australia, where turtles nest. It was still turtle nesting season. The little baby turtles hatched under the sand every afternoon and evening and made their way to the ocean in their hundreds. We were lucky enough to see them while we were there.

Most of the little baby turtles, with their cute little flippers and little shells, don’t make it to adulthood as between their beach nesting places and the ocean they’ll spend the years growing to adulthood in they have to run the gauntlet of seagulls picking them off one by one. And even when they make it to the water’s edge sharks and rays wait to snack on more of them.

Looking back I was one of those baby turtles. And the sharks had no problem gobbling me up.

The consequences of my innocence and poor judgement was soon to become apparent, as I boarded the plane for London.