Jed took hold of the dried lizards, I took the bong and together we ran to the train. A three foot bong is difficult enough to handle without having both hands occupied with plastic bags of food and drink, and a rucksack on your back. I pinched it under my arm and stepped out from the tourist waiting room into a calm night heat. The sounds of Beijing eluded us on the platform.
We'd gone to Dali, to a market on the lake, but Ben had fallen ill with dysentery so we hadn't been able to stay long. In fact it had gotten so bad that we had to get him to Xichang to find help. I too, had run up a fever after we'd been caught on the hills in the rain with only our T-shirts... It was only Darius who was OK.
Original of The Mule Jed took hold of the dried lizards, I managed the bong and together we struggled to the train. A three foot bong is difficult enough to…
I'm a-walking down Nathan Road with a strut in my legs like I'm dancing, the crowds thick as steam off the paving. Cars are pressed cheek to cheek and blowing fury and the neon billboards stretch into the middle of the road ends touching and bouncing fire red and orange; and I'm seeing all this on my toes, alive with the noise rattling in my ears, the clatter of kettle drums and disco beats, and high pitched screams like noodle sucks and slurps and the slice of a gaggling chicken throat.
Originally set in Xi-Chang "Well we were in this restaurant in Xi-Chang, me and two French guys I'd met down South. We'd gone to Dali together, to a market on…
It would be a long bus journey from Lijiang to get there and it was not clear where I would stay once I was there. The guide books did not show anything. And it was not certain why it was off limits. Perhaps it was a route, albeit circuitous to Tibet. Perhaps it was because the society who lived there was matriarchal.
Original of No Limits (first part only) Original set in Lijiang Steven Fowler had landed in the midst of a crowd of blue jackets and green caps. First they would…
Original of Hong Kong, A Love Story I'm a walking down Nathan Road with a strut in my legs like I'm dancing, the crowds thick as steam off the paving.…
All around the walls hung heavy sequined tapestries. Scenes of death, love, of the battle; of evil and good; of the demons and the heroes of the Ramakien, all portrayed in relief. Rich gold embossed details on coarse brown fabric. A Burmese man sat at a table tuning a receiver to the World Service.
Dressed in faded denims, he wandered past bottles wrapped in shining glittered paper for the connoisseurs of fine liquors. His shirt was stained and punctured with wear. Jeans stretched, they hung loosely around his buttocks and were frayed at the ankles. Sweat gathered in black shavings where the plastic straps of his thongs rubbed his toes. And he shuffled around the aisles, parted the hair away from his eyes and stared along the display for the right whisky.
