It's good to see my brother. Peter joins us in Chiang Mai. It's soft and sweet. We sit in a line on pink seats at the night bazaar, feet being pampered and pummelled, I'm next to a lady from up north. This is the life, imagine if I could get him to do it, she says.
Her large fella smiles, he's gone deluxe, one tiny lady on each foot.
We take our bikes out and explore the mountains. Bending roads lead to a dog show, eagle-eye Billie saw the sign, I made the mistake of stopping. Us lot and another couple - no kids, the Animal Liberation Front on reconnaissance. The show begins and dogs jump hoops, the presenter shouts, good dogs, die, die, die, they pretend death. Find, find, bring, bring, she then shouts - she doesn't know how to use a mike - the clever dogs find the ball. Difficult, difficult, she hollers, as if we didn't know.
The recon couple take notes, check padlocks, pull on barbed wire. Coming back? I say. They nod their heads. The presenter lady loves her dogs, has doggie saliva running down her legs. We ride on into the Mae Rim mountain mist, it's cold up there when you're in flip-flops and shorts, silly tourists.
Learn, I must open up, let myself go, let myself be free. Was I hit as a child, shouted at even? the Yoga Guru asks me. Let the healing begin, he says. I nod, walk to him, give him a hug, he asks if I'd get back in line. I'm by far the worst man he's ever had in his class.
Look at the brother, relax, still your mind, he's again talking to me. His disciples wait in contorted poses. All he wants to do is heal. Let me heal, he says in his Swiss, brother, sister, man, sort of Jamaican patois. He had another stomach way down, way beyond mine, he showed me the little thing, looked like a little bag pipe sack.
You don't even know how to breathe, he's getting a bit cross, you do it the wrong way. Do I? See, he shows me, my stomach's going the wrong way at the wrong time. I'm buggered if I can breathe like him. I'm glad I brought the girls, they're holding up nicely. This is playground stuff for Etta. She's the best in the class.
The four days with my real brother end. We leave Chiang Mai in style, by a silver shadow lady, a Roller 'mustn't grumble'-style to the station, in sweet smelling leather. Breathe in breathe out, it feels pretty right now. The people in northern Thailand have been very kind.
Train back, clickerty clack down to Bangkok, porters playing the free beer trick, ah but I know now. Wafer thin, neat uniformed men walking up and down the aisles. Bangkok's the same as ever, heavy with fuel and people's energy.
We get a taxi to the airport, on the meter? I ask, he nods his head, the car starts to rumble.
Look, Billie says, his meter's gone from 30 to 70 in one hit. Meter no good, he says, meter not work.
Look in my eyes, I say, look in my eyes, do I look like a - I won't say what I said. And he looks ill from all the ripping off and scamming. He tells us he'll charge 600 Baht for a farang going back into town, real price 220, smiles when he says it, I've become his friend again.
Impress me, he says when we arrive, give me a big tip, I suck my teeth, walk away, I'm slowly going mad.
Airport world, back with proper inflated prices on dusted and shined shelves, gold glitzy charm, lizard leather.
Down to Singapore we go. Clean tidy place, where middle-aged businessmen can rock, play air guitar and whoop it up, get on down. We sleep under a slide in the kiddie section of the airport waiting to be buckled and whooshed to Australia. How quickly three months have gone.
My, my, how blue sky can be, like a child's drawing with a yellow dot in the corner for sun. We're welcomed by shorted, pulled-up-socked, fair dinkum, dinky-di, jackaroo men, computer passported in.
We hire a car, take to the long straight roads, everything quieter and bigger already. They've got problems with sugar levels over here. I go to a supermarket to look at the west's booty. I'm in mid-drop, putting mushrooms in a plastic bag, when an old lady says in my ear, plastic makes them sweat, put 'em in a paper bag. Hobbles off. I like this country already, friendly folk, kind with their time.
We're on a mission, we need wheels to sit upon. The train across Australia's too expensive. Who said Australia was cheap? Someone we met somewhere. No, these are proper prices, my mind's been in south-east Asia too long. I'm spoilt and it hurts me, mummy.
We rent a flat, it's the cheapest way to hunker down, get yourself a dunny. We find them in the Quokka, they have good words over here. Bayswater Holiday Home. Large, helpful family, with a Bali kingdom behind their home, pool, griddle and bar and the biggest freezer set I've ever seen. They like to party, these people.
We make bids at a car auction, are beaten by another hand. Telephone calls that lead to meetings with brothers-in-law because the owner can't sell his own car. Doesn't even know where the water goes, the in-law says. To forecourt shufflers, sweating in crisp-collared white seller shirts. It won't be here tomorrow mate, he says, fingering, stroking the car. This place goes a ripper at night, he says. I nod, say I don't believe him. He looks at me, then says, don't crack the shits mate, I've got no idea what we're talking about. We don't buy the car.
To a boy racer who throws his keys over the barbie spitting fence. Take if for a spin he says, its got guts it's a gutsy car. I never use it, he says, I pop the bonnet, the engine's hot, and the seagulls above squawk.
Then on to a camper van, breaks down mid-drive, she'll be right he says. We all get out and push. We like a camper van, us lot. He says it's just the idle screw. We go home to think. Our friends at the Bayswater Holiday Home know just the man, mechanic Steve. We take a drive down, he has a look, coughs into his hands, tells us she'll make it and that he'll do a thorough overhaul. All he wants in exchange is a text message once we've crossed the Nullabor.
In between all this it's been Aussie day, flag wavers, tinnies and fireworks by the Swan River. Billie asks, why do people think fireworks can hear them? As another ah! comes from the crowd.
Billie's take
We drive past a place with Dog Show written on it. I say, oh dad let's go and see if it's on.
It's 12:15 and it's not on till 1:15. Daddy says no thanks, we drive off, me crying on the front of the bike. 1km down the road is a place were we can get drinks. The cokes are massive and uncle Peter says, stop showing me your ass.
We met Peter in Chiang Mai. We had a great time with Peter, we hadn't seen him for one or two years which is a long time and daddy was pleased to see him too. Peter bought some twiglets and marmite from home, it was nice to eat things that I hadn't had for a while.
We slept at Singapore airport because our flight to Perth was only at 7:00, so we didn't see the point of getting a hotel room. We went out to dinner and had dog satay, well it tasted like that anyway even though it wasn't.
The fireworks in Perth were amazing. I said to daddy, why do people think that fireworks can hear them, when there was another wow. Ozzie ozzie ozzie oi. That's the song they sang, a bit weird.
