Bangkok. The very name promises… certain things. But the food alone is a good enough excuse to stay for weeks. And I did. Seventeen days to be precise. Getting the motorcycle through the airport custom was such an elaborate project that I should have brought a laptop with Tetris to support my boredom while waiting for the formalities to carry on. It was hot as hell, and once in a while they requested me to sign documents which purposes were written in a Thai language so bureaucratic that they couldn’t even explain the purposes themselves. The only thing that was crystal clear was that if I failed to re-export the motorcycle within eight weeks I would be liable to pay the insane duty of 898.000 Bath. That is about 22.800 US dollar, a sum I will never be able to pay. So I signed.

The latest model from Rana Baatbyggeri

While this was going on I forgot to saturate my intestines, hence experiencing something new and - may I add - confusing akin to the first morning in the early eighties when I woke up in puberty. This time the symptoms were a sudden urge to undress in a public place and cling on to an air-conditioner whilst drinking three liters of refrigerated water. I later got to learn that the phenomenon is called “heat exhaustion” and is, supposedly, not good for you. Balto experienced something similar on the way to town, regrettably so severe that he will not fully recover without a little surgery. The engine overheated thus the oil lost its lubrication abilities. My mistake. The result became a vague but notable click-click sound that was not mended with a simple valve adjustment. However, the bike is tough, not really complaining about anything, which is pretty impressive after sucking more fuel than the weight of a Volvo and doing so through all sorts of grueling conditions.

Mechanical striptease at Mr. Yut’s place

Within a week I received fresh back-up parts from Lars in Denmark. He manages a gem of a web shop (check it out: www.dinmc.dk). If DinMc was a restaurant they’d earn five stars in the Michelin guide for their service alone. It was some excitement attached to whether or not the parcel would arrive undamaged, if arriving at all. The reason for this excitement was a sudden urge in areas with a noteworthy Muslim representation to thrash Danish and Norwegian property. In addition I got a five kilo gold reward on my head for a cartoon I didn’t make and didn’t publish. I haven’t even seen it. Heck, not even THEY have seen it.

The reason why the Norwegian embassy in Damascus was demolished
(and why the embassy in Thailand is next)

And who are THEY? They are goofballs, and goofballs are everywhere regardless of religion. They are diluted by the rest, like a drop of lemon in a bottle of mineral water. Of course, when making a label on the bottle, the single drop of lemon gets an awful lot of attention. The result is obvious. Or maybe not, but I’ll give it a shot: If you do not like lemon you’ll probably not buy the bottle, which is sad because if you did buy the bottle when expecting the strong presence of a flavor you do not like you’d likely be disappointed in a very positive way. Hmm...

Nonetheless, in respect to my mothers need to sleep at night (she has a rough time as it is) I’ve promised to avoid countries with a predominantly Muslim population until a certain president once again steal the limelight by demonstrating that he has the diplomatic skills of a goofball. For me that means a temporary close-down of the Malaysian border and the road beyond. Instead I'll go looking for colonel Kurtz, and – to prove my point above - I’ll do so with the enemy.
That’s right, the Turkish girl is back. But is she back with a vengeance?