I saw a Korean girl - maybe eighteen. She was walking in front of me, doing that awkard walk like her hips were catching her fall and throwing her back up and forwards a little. Kind of like a day-old foal. When I walked past her I had to turn to look - maybe, maybe I knew her some how. I did, but didn't. That same goofy stare - like the sun was shining for the first time in her life. It was just a quick glance, but I couldn't stop thinking about how much of her she'd brought to Malaysia. This wasn't travelling - this was importing.
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There were some Scandinavian types in the open-air, fan-blasting Indian cafe later. When their metal dishes of red-smothered chicken and sauces arrived they looked perplexed. Germanic blonde heads moving like a cautious periscope. Then one of them popped out his words, each in equal prominence:
'Do you have some knife and fork?'
The waiter didn't catch it - their tones were far hills away from his juggling accent of English. The rucksacked blondes looked at one another. One of them nodded assuringly to the rest and moved his hands like a clockwork drummer over his dish.
'Okay. Okay. You need some cutlery? You don't want to eat with your hands like is traditional?'
The group shared their slight confusion once more and the drummer repeated his move.
'Okay friends - I'll get the cutlery for you.'
It wasn't until the waiter came back with a smile spread across his entire being that the group relaxed. Then in a unified orchestra they tucked in.
I thought to myself - I bet they eat smoked salmon sandwiches in the same way.
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So many more I could list, but I'll get to my clumsy point sooner.
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I've seen Red Square with it's psychedelic onions and monstrous tyranny. I've sat in a taxi streaming towards a sign which reads 'Non-Muslims turn off here' in the thumping heat of Saudi Arabia. I walked from the Andaman Sea forty-four hours before that sea trampled thousands. I chewed, with less vigour than almost anything before, on a rubbery piece of dog fat. Ditto - so on and so forth.
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Why?
I realised I probably did it all the wrong way. The same row of grammar applied to each situation. My brain channelled an identical row of expletives each time. How much, which pieces of helpless Britishness did I carry around with me?
All these places I went - and expected most of them to come to me.
Lie and tell me you don't do the same.
