In Thailand's alleged best jazz bar, old Saxophone, I met an old Austaralian who was a good, friendly guy despite being a racist and a bigott. Ignoring his various, rather colorful ways of describing "this piece o'shit country" or his references to Australia as a " real one", he was really rather agreeable company.

He had a dozen good ideas for what I could do with my life, which he was good enough to give as answers to questions I never made.

"If you really want to make a move, I'd think about mining in Mongolia. That's a really good place to look for a job now. The boom there is unbelievable." (Remember to read these in your best Aussie accent.) "If you have the money for it, buy yourself a shack in one of Singapore's slums and live there for three years. Then you get the best passport in the world. That's what I'd do if I were you and if you had the money."

He kept referring to his girlfrend as "my little brown girl" and "the concubine".

A retirement plan helps too but there are only three things, I realised that night, one needs to have to be a true expat over here. A moustache, of course, a faded tatoo, and a local girl to call concubine and say horrible things about her country to.

If I don't manage all three of these before the end of the month, I can always try Mongolia I suppose.

(Epileptic Valentine #2)

 

And this is how we'll think of ourselves in the future.