Stealing Asia Read Online Free PDF

being trapped in
this decrepit town after nightfall. As I approached the police station, I tried
to replay the previous three hours in my head in order to ascertain exactly
where it had all gone wrong.
    Our minivan had
left Hat Yai at precisely twelve o’clock. Of course, my estimations on this
could be out by up to an hour each way since I was unsure if I had crossed any
international date lines when leaving Malaysia. The vehicle had been full with
me as the only white passenger. Other than the driver, I was also the only male
onboard. The women that travelled with me had all worn traditional Muslim
headscarves. Having spent a month in Malaysia I was used to this attire, but
what I failed to realise at the time was that Thailand is a predominately
Buddhist country. There I was, sat on a bus close to the border, where every
other passenger was a Muslim and I actually believed that I was headed towards
what promised to be a Mecca of sand and sex for western tourists. With
hindsight, I only had myself to blame.
    The first
roadblock we passed did not come as too much of a surprise. I assumed that it
signalled we were leaving the troubled Southern Provinces. Two more roadblocks
quickly followed and it was to prove third time unlucky as this time we were
not merely waved along by the on duty soldiers.
    They ordered the
driver to open up the rear. I slunk back into my seat hoping not to be spotted
amongst the dark skin and headscarves, whilst trying my best not to look at the
soldiers as they conducted their search. Avoiding gazing at the large machine
gun mount just metres to the right of our minivan proved much more difficult.
Covered by a three foot high barricade of sandbags, to my mind it belonged on a
battlefield not a civilian highway. Whatever the soldiers expected to find,
they certainly had no shortage of firepower ready to deal with it.
    After an
excruciating wait the driver was finally allowed to close the back of the van.
He got back onboard and started up the engine. Since nobody had been pulled forcefully
from the vehicle and then shot by the roadside, I assumed that the search had
been satisfactory and no contraband found. The soldiers waved us on and we
returned to the heavily fortified highway.
    By this time I
had spent a combined total of nearly seven hours on the road. The whole way I
had endured the unrelenting attention of the sun placing its spotlight directly
upon me. Common sense dictated that I should have been shaded in the afternoon
when it would be due to torment the poor soul sitting by the opposite window.
The fact that it did not was a tell tale sign we were not travelling north as I
expected, for if we were, it would suggest that the sun was setting in the
East, which is impossible.
    As twilight
approached, we entered a forlorn town that could not have been further from how
I had expected the gateway to paradise to be. The most striking feature was the
lack of colour. The buildings, the sky, even the grass were all gray.
Everything seemed burned out and lifeless. My spirits sank when the minivan
pulled to a halt indicating that this was the end of the line. The driver
opened up the rear door and gestured for me to get out. The other passengers
all remained seated.
    ‘Which way to
the pier?’ I asked, as I took my bag from the back of the minivan.
    I knew that he
did not understand English, but logic could deduce the only question that I was
likely to be asking. He pointed over my shoulder. A thick mist obscured my
vision beyond maybe eight to ten metres. I expected that at any minute the fog
would peel away to reveal a waiting ferry, which would take me on to the
islands. Instead, it gave way to a large line of refugees waiting to leave the
country and a raft of armed border guards. Looking for assistance, I approached
the nearest soldier, who could not have been any less than eighteen years of
age. That was when I had found myself staring into the barrel of a gun for the
second time. It would not