I remember my first visit to a Malaysian village. Underdeveloped by the standards of the west at the time, it was the early nineties and the New Zealand shopping-mall designers had not yet arrived with their new retail experiences.
There were old markets, grimy and unsophisticated. Buckets of "animal products" - I saw what looked like a hollowed out and chopped-up snake - a big one - bits lying in a large bowl, for sale. To eat? Medicine? Not my thing, but as raw and savage as I'd ever gotten.
As I arrived, unused to the heat and climate, I wore a large bush-hat - like a brown cowboy hat but without the Crocodile Dundee corks.
The crowd were fascinated by me, my colour (white as a fish), my size (I was over 300lbs in those days) and my hat. My presence was the talking point. Literally 60 villagers following my every move. Strange dialects "why's he here? What's he looking at now? He's moving! Quick!"
Everything was wrong. I sweated, dark patches under my arms - should wear a white shirt, it wouldn't show. Just about to keel over in the mud any moment. Like Jesus of Nazareth and his crowds of followers, about to have a heart attack.
I visited many times subsequently, up until the late noughties. Things changed shortly after my first visit. I learned the ropes. The people saw more "white monkeys" and commercialism took hold. More tourism from westernised stuff - more "italian-bean" coffee shops. More mormons on bicycles pedalling a new way of life. I even had chance to use my business skills to help design this new, retail "paradise."
The people still stared at you- they just weren't as curious, or as friendly.
I'd experienced something, perhaps for the first-time. Never again, that's for sure.
Did you ever wake up in a dream? Tell me about it...
