Dismounting the crocodile without getting eaten” (Diary #2) - looong post
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Dismounting the crocodile without getting eaten” (Diary #2) - looong post
Not sure if it’s appropriate to post my second diary here. Unlike the first one which just concentrated on the very early days, it’s a mixture of my general travel experiences and encounters in the city, scenes on the site and the inevitable episodes with the client’s drinking marathons and my approach to it in those dark smoky rooms.
Don’t want to tread on any toes by just posting it straight as it is. Bit wary of upsetting people. Parts of it may be controversial to some more experienced members for the approach I adopted which didn’t seem to be acceptable practice to everyone.
Also because it’s not focussed primarily on early recovery and is a mix-match of experiences – including a section on booze - , it’s maybe unsuitable to post it here. It may also be deemed a bit irreverent in parts. I wrote it fresh, as soon as I had the opportunity so some of the incidents are still a bit vivid.
But it helped to put the whirlwind of the trip into some kind of perspective for me, anyway. This has been one of the weirdest trips in a long time.
Oh, what the heck, here it is, if you want to read exclusively about recovery uncluttered by other stuff (not an unhealthy thing by any means) then you probably won’t find it that relevant because there’s a lot of other gear mixed in there.
I’m sure the mods / admin will delete it if they feel it’s inappropriate.
Thanks again for your kind support. Just wanted to say Howzit, I’m back and I’m sober and never felt better. I’m probably going back in 3 / 4 weeks time and this experience should help further.
Vrystaaaaat!
Bruce.
Here goes:::::::
“Dismounting the crocodile without getting eaten” (Diary #2)
Board the plane and it looks like it’s full. Love sitting way at the back. Empty seat next to me. Yaaay! start raising my hopes that I may just get lucky and be able to stretch out. Then I see this giant figure trundling down the cabin scanning his boarding pass, dragging what looks like a garage for a small car but is actually a suitcase. No, please? Sure enough he wedges himself into the seat next to me after doing a few pile drives on his case to force it into the overhead compartment. Wonder if my laptop has been smashed into the size of a tablet?
This guy was the size and appearance of a Woolly Mammoth without the tusks. Had to keep the armrest between us up most of the time so he could fit in. 11+ hours of cosy-cosy coming up.
Entered into a bet with myself to drink all the bottled water on the plane. Didn’t get very far though and had to clamber over the mammoth every time I needed the loo. Normally by the time the seatbelt lights were off I would be 3 sheets into the wind anyway thanks to getting succour at the duty free. What a great feeling to step off the plane refreshed, sober and on top of myself. First time in ages that I could present myself at immigration without bloodshot eyes and swaying slightly. Didn’t alter their disdain though. They still look at you as if you’re a cannibal with half chewed body parts in your bag.
There was a mix up in the arrival times and the driver was delayed so I cooled my heels for an hour or so waiting. It’s amazing how depressing airports are at 3am. Found an internet terminal and accessed SR. Read a few posts to lift my spirits.
Anyway, car arrived and I got to the hotel. This place is hotter than I remember it. Fell asleep and woke up late Saturday afternoon. Took a taxi down to the working end of town. 50 dollars tucked into my shoe and a photostat of my passport in my pocket. That was it. Nothing else to be “lifted”. Oh, and the hotel’s card. That’s a relic from previous trips where you were kinda trashed and couldn’t remember the name of the hotel so just gave the taxi driver the card. Ouch, ouch, ouch, what dumb and irresponsible things I used to do.
It’s amazing what street vendors want to sell you. Anything from snakes in bottles to the inevitable (fake ?) Viagra to small power tools. What on earth am I going to do with a portable belt sander or a snake in a bottle? We’ve got more than enough snakes at home. Poor things. This must be the most expensive city on the planet. Maybe not for Expats who live there but certainly for the ordinary person in the street. So many people there.
People are generally polite and friendly especially in the financial and retail areas. Sure it’s got a seedier side (where we had our benders) but the guys seemed to prefer it there to the more formal parts of the city. They felt they could relax there with more ordinary people. They seemed to go there a lot.
Sunday was spent in preparation for site, going over the main packages, scopes of work, the blockplans, turning the layers off one by one. They had over 120 layers. Sheeze talk about overkill ! Letters of award, risk registers, etc. Didn’t venture out much. I inspected the mini bar and then closed it. Just didn’t do anything for me. Haven’t had any cravings since I stopped drinking. It’s almost like I’ve never had alcohol before. Felt confident going to sleep that night that things would be ok, certainly from a work perspective.
Next morning at 6 went for breakfast. Strange thing about that hotel is that they seem to have a 24 hour bar. Don’t know how they get past the tough local liquor laws, maybe it’s through hotel resident’s privileges? Or maybe you need to order a plate of chips (something to eat) and then booze can flow. Our country had a similar law a number of years ago. Sunday drinking had to be accompanied by food. So you would get 10 guys ordering one plate of the cheapest item on the menu and then everyone could get “legally” broken.
You can either get to the restaurant through the lobby or through the bar. I chose to walk through the bar for breakfastand at 6AM there are the guys swaying on barstools and getting merrily smashed. The bar never seemed to be less than one third full at that time of the morning.
Met the PM at 6:30 as agreed outside the hotel. Let me keep some anonymity here – his name is “Joe”. We drove to site with Joe talking non stop. He seemed to like ABBA. Was playing on repeat on the CD.
At site I was allocated an office in the cabin and introduced to most of the discipline leads. Normal kind of bunch. Intelligent, know their work, no-nonsense types. Maybe rough diamonds. There’s an equivalent clone on almost every project I’ve worked on. Went straight away on a brief site orientation tour and the usual safety inductions. The amount of manual labour was astounding.
I find it quite funny – Joe pronounces my name as “Bloose”. That’s cool, at least he’s co-operative and trying to be welcoming.
Rest of the day went normally with some review meetings and the usual claim strategy meetings and I left about 20:30 in a taxi back to the hotel. Had difficulty settling down and went for a walk and bought some supper from a vendor. Finally slept about 23:30. Body clock still on home time.
Tuesday morning. Breakfast at 6, taking my detour through the bar with the drunks swaying like pendulums on the stools and a few “ladies of the early morning” hanging around. This city certainly doesn’t sleep!
Picked up by Joe and driven to site. ABBA still on repeat on the CD. Pretty bulk standard morning. Then around lunch time I had just come back from seeing the structural guys when Joe grins broadly and says “Bloose, tonight we eat, eh?”. Gulp. I know what that means. Trying to look like Steven Segal interbred with Chuck Norris I say, yeah sure Joe, that would be great. Joe’s grin widens. “Good Bloose, we have a good time, you’ll see”.
Got back to the hotel and Joe’s waiting for me at 18:30 as arranged. Getting a bit sick of ABBA now. We drove north and into a kindof seedy area. Joe picks up my apprehension and says “Bloose you don’t worry. You will like this place huh?”. Double gulp.
Anyway we stop outside this place that looks like it was already ramshackle and semi-derelict long before the British first arrived on the scene. It’s seen some heavy duty mileage.
Go through the bead curtain and the smoke hits you like a 4 pound hammer on the forehead. Sheeze. The place was packed but Joe guides me to a booth in the far corner.
There were 6 of us there. Me, Joe and the other 4 were the lead engineers of various disciplines.
Had met all of them on site. They seem to enjoy this kind of event as Joe flourishes his company credit card with a big grin. It looks like the only time he can abuse it is when entertaining “guests” like me.
Looks like this booth is permanently allocated to them.
Joe kicks off the jamboree with an order for a round of beers. When they arrive I lean over to Joe and tell him with a straight face that I’m on a course of hectic medication and can’t drink currently. He eyes me suspiciously and I pull a small bottle of disprin out of my pocket.
This is a direct quote from one of my previous posts and it perhaps sums up the background to the culture and the approach to booze. My apologies if you’ve read it before but I think it’s a fair reflection:
Most of the guys in my line of work that I’ve met on engineering jobs in SEA and Eastern Europe seem to have colossal drinking capabilities that are hard-wired into their DNA. A simple response like “I don’t drink” will probably work very well around a polite dinner table in Europe or North America or elsewhere, but it is almost frowned upon amongst the clients that I need to work with. Drinking there is an ethos, a lifestyle and if you don’t drink it’s a sign of something wrong with you (ironically!). It’s difficult to explain if you haven’t gone through a few encounters with that setup.
It’s like a culture there and is notorious. Fit in or push-off. I don’t know which is worse: Eastern Europe or SEA.
I gave them a “believable” reason that I’m on medication and grudgingly there was an understanding. Certainly not a “come let me give you a hug” understanding, but at least they knew the reason. Tell them flat out “I can’t drink with you” and guess what happens: Suddenly when your connections to the various servers get broken, the techie takes 2 hours instead of 15 minutes to fix them, you find yourself referencing whole sets of drawings that are 2 or 3 revisions behind, site inspections are rescheduled at the last minute without you knowing, QCP’s get misfiled or are older revisions, want a quick red-line revision to a drawing – it gets put at the bottom of the draftie’s pile etc, etc. I’m not saying they are being vindictive, but just a lot less helpful, and instead of the extra resource they requested for assistance, you’re an “outsider”. I’ve seen it enough times, particularly in South East Asia, and not only related to alcohol consumption. You’ve got to fit in as seamlessly as possible or you are going to battle really hard to get co-operation.
Anyway Joe seems to accept it a bit grudgingly and asks me what I want to drink. Looks like I’ve got away with it!! Things are looking up. Now there’s five sets of eyes checking me out. I request a bottle of water and the whole table bursts into laughter. Joe nods and says “Bloose okay, next time – we will have lots of these celebrations”. Everyone is smoking and chatting and even my electrical cigarette is fired up. After another round of beers we order food. What delicious grub. Absolutely fantastic. Things are looking up even more. A few more rounds of beer accompany the meal.
After the main course Joe starts to up the ante. A bottle of Johnny Walker Red appears with six tumblers. The equivalent of about 2 shots is poured into each one and Joe crunches the cap in his hand and tosses it into the adjacent booth. By this time there were a couple of women that were hovering near our booth. I ask Joe how old they are. He says “Bloose of course they are 18”. They look about 12 years old to me.
I try and ignore the little girls as they stare at us. Our waitress comes up and I catch her eye and motion that she can have my tumbler. Her eyes light up like Guy Fawkes and she grabs the tumbler and carries it off like an Olympic trophy, Joe stares at me and says “Bloose we are not a bloody charity here”. Ouch.
A couple of crushed caps land on our table and there’s huge laughter from our group. Apparently this is a kindof “one-upmanship”. The table that launches the most crushed caps are deemed to be the “indisputable heavy duty drinkers” and command respect.
Soon there’s a dead marine on the table. The bottle’s empty. We take a break and have some of the most delicious lemon sorbet I’ve ever tasted. Order another one. General chit chat. Engineering opinions, (most engineers have the mistaken idea that their own design is the most robust / elegant solution), family news, they were very interested in my home country, jobs we’ve worked on, etc..
Joe excuses himself. A few minutes he’s back with the waitress in tow and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue on the tray. Damn!
It’s like they are competing in an All-Asia mega-drinking competition.
The same ritual. A crushed cap launched into the booth next door amid cheers and general laughter. This time there’s still six glasses. Seems like etiquette needed to be preserved. This puzzled me because after downing the first bottle, surely any subsequent alcohol would probably taste like petrol or drain cleaner afterwards, no matter how fancy the brand? It boiled down to pride and bragging rights, a statement to say “look other ‘peasants’, look what we can afford”. Anyway, the waitress had got wise by then and made off with my tumbler.
After about another hour or so that bottle close to becoming a dead marine and now the booth was really ticking. Most of the guys were obviously smashed.
At least these guys are not so much into their karaoke sessions (unlike some other countries in the region where karaoke seems to be the top national sport and religion rolled into one). But there was some guy slaughtering Ace of Base – All that she want’s is another baby. I was thinking “all that I want is another set of earplugs”. The more jungle juice that gets glugged down the more you start wishing for a power failure. The locals went wild with him, must be their local version of Elvis.
By now it was well into Wednesday and our table had become a bit subdued. An argument had broken out between two of the guys and Joe was examining something on the table, trying to focus. The electrical lead had his head resting on his arms.
I called over the waitress and said we needed to go. She just said “Taxi?”. I said “Yeah, but for them too.”
She knew them very well and wasn’t worried about the bill. First time I’ve experienced that! She reckoned Joe would be back tomorrow to settle and a taxi would know where to drop them off. Talk about honour amongst drunks!! That’s a first for me!
I got into my taxi, gave him my hotel card and suddenly started sobbing. I gave thanks that I was able to endure that in one piece, that I had somehow managed to get off the crocodile’s back that I had been riding for so long without getting eaten. I cried for my wife so far away and had put up with so much, for Joe and all the others in that wrecked drink-house, for the waitress who seemed to understand, for my own recovery, for the people who had supported me, for the people I had hurt. I stared out of the window through tear streaked eyes watching the city that never sleeps till we arrived at the hotel, which strangely was the only thing that seemed familiar.
Wednesday morning.
Didn’t expect Joe to pitch up so after breakfast got a taxi to site. Thank goodness no ABBA.
Let myself into the cabin and started the work that I had planned for that day.
About 10AM Joe gingerly walked in. “Bloose we had a proper good time last night eh? You enjoy it?” He seems to have overlooked my donations to the waitress. I didn’t quite know what to say so I got him a mug of coffee that would have dissolved the spoon if I had left it in longer. I noticed his hands were trembling slightly when he took it. And I could smell the booze. Maybe he got lucky with the random breathalyser at the gate?
Shortly thereafter the others arrived in dribs and drabs. They all reckoned it had been an epic evening and just the bee’s knees.
I busied myself with the things I had to do and didn’t see much of them until late afternoon. By then they seemed fine and were functioning “normally”. I didn’t see all of them though.
Left site at about 21:00 and went straight to bed. Strangely no insomnia or restless legs. Didn’t feel like supper.
Thursday generally a repeat, except ABBA accompanied by Joe picked me up. When I get home I’m going to buy an ABBA CD and shoot holes in it.
Tomorrow’s my last day. This was more like a reconnaissance trip although there were specific pieces of work that I completed.
My flight’s quite late tomorrow and Joe came up with the idea of a farewell lunch. Double Damn. He just grinned and said it wouldn’t be a problem.
Friday morning came all too quickly and we left at about 11AM.
I had my bags with me and we ABBA’d our way to the same decrepit grog-hole. Our booth was waiting. The place was about half full, guys getting warmed up for the weekend. Just as smoky and the karaoke is going like a two-stroke. Showed Joe my bottle of asprin and he nodded a bit grimly. “It’s ok Bloose, I understand”. A different take from Tuesday night.
This time there was no messing around with preliminaries. Joe had his foot firmly on the booze-accelerator.
Bottle of Johnny Walker Red appears. The waitress seems to remember me and a sealed 1 litre bottle of water is placed in front of me. Crushed cap goes flying across the room and amid much joviality the poison gets dished out. I tossed my plastic cap across the booths and there was a shout of delight as it bounced around. The waitress gets my tumbler and I get a huge smile in return.
I’ve set a limit of 14h00 to get out of here. Very soon the Marine is dead and buried. They switch to beer. I’m casting surreptitious glances at my watch.
Soon it’s time. Joe has just ordered another bottle of whisky and before the cap gets crushed and hurled across the room I stand up to take my farewell. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be. Seems like genuine feelings from the leads. Joe walks me to the door we shake hands and embrace. Seems like things are good between us. I ask him if he’s going to be ok. He replies things will be just fine. My report will be submitted by the end of next week. We just stand there, waiting for my taxi. Shake his hand one more time and I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to be ok. Joe disappears quickly back inside, maybe to see how much is left in the bottle?
Dump my stuff in the boot and ask the driver for the airport. Time to get the hell out of this city.
Mixed emotions running through me as we thread our way to the airport. Confusion, thanks, maybe some bewilderment, a lot of introspection. Check in, security (taking off your boots is a real pain but understandable I guess). Picked up some things at duty free for my wife and finally boarded. Plane’s not that full and thank goodness no mammoth next to me.
Why do East-West flights always seem so much longer than West-East flights?
Started working on my report and then gave it up. Just could not concentrate. And too much stuff running riot in my head. Decided instead to start my diary whilst it’s still fresh.
Coming home this time is easily the best homecoming I can remember for many years. My wife smiled when she saw me sober. Hugs and kisses and home in one piece and in peace.
Life seems so much better now. Won’t trade this for anything. Strong like a 100 lions.
Hope this post has been of some use?
Thanks again to those who have supported me here. Greatly appreciated! I hope I can reciprocate in some way.
Looks like I might be going back in 3 or 4 week’s time for a bit longer with a few other guys from the local office here. It doesn’t daunt me now though. Before this trip would have been a bog-standard work trip without a second thought. From now on it’s different. Staying sober is the way I choose consciously at the top of my mind from now on. There cannot be any turning back. Strangely I’m not apprehensive of going back to “our” booth and being in the company of people drinking. It’s their choice and it’s my imperative. I did it twice and I know I can do it as often as needed. Engage the no-drink autopilot. Need to take a private site drive with Joe next time and tell him my real story. If he gives me the hump, that’s fine. I doubt it somehow.
Strength and light and thanks for reading. Good luck with your continuing recoveries.
B.
Don’t want to tread on any toes by just posting it straight as it is. Bit wary of upsetting people. Parts of it may be controversial to some more experienced members for the approach I adopted which didn’t seem to be acceptable practice to everyone.
Also because it’s not focussed primarily on early recovery and is a mix-match of experiences – including a section on booze - , it’s maybe unsuitable to post it here. It may also be deemed a bit irreverent in parts. I wrote it fresh, as soon as I had the opportunity so some of the incidents are still a bit vivid.
But it helped to put the whirlwind of the trip into some kind of perspective for me, anyway. This has been one of the weirdest trips in a long time.
Oh, what the heck, here it is, if you want to read exclusively about recovery uncluttered by other stuff (not an unhealthy thing by any means) then you probably won’t find it that relevant because there’s a lot of other gear mixed in there.
I’m sure the mods / admin will delete it if they feel it’s inappropriate.
Thanks again for your kind support. Just wanted to say Howzit, I’m back and I’m sober and never felt better. I’m probably going back in 3 / 4 weeks time and this experience should help further.
Vrystaaaaat!
Bruce.
Here goes:::::::
“Dismounting the crocodile without getting eaten” (Diary #2)
Board the plane and it looks like it’s full. Love sitting way at the back. Empty seat next to me. Yaaay! start raising my hopes that I may just get lucky and be able to stretch out. Then I see this giant figure trundling down the cabin scanning his boarding pass, dragging what looks like a garage for a small car but is actually a suitcase. No, please? Sure enough he wedges himself into the seat next to me after doing a few pile drives on his case to force it into the overhead compartment. Wonder if my laptop has been smashed into the size of a tablet?
This guy was the size and appearance of a Woolly Mammoth without the tusks. Had to keep the armrest between us up most of the time so he could fit in. 11+ hours of cosy-cosy coming up.
Entered into a bet with myself to drink all the bottled water on the plane. Didn’t get very far though and had to clamber over the mammoth every time I needed the loo. Normally by the time the seatbelt lights were off I would be 3 sheets into the wind anyway thanks to getting succour at the duty free. What a great feeling to step off the plane refreshed, sober and on top of myself. First time in ages that I could present myself at immigration without bloodshot eyes and swaying slightly. Didn’t alter their disdain though. They still look at you as if you’re a cannibal with half chewed body parts in your bag.
There was a mix up in the arrival times and the driver was delayed so I cooled my heels for an hour or so waiting. It’s amazing how depressing airports are at 3am. Found an internet terminal and accessed SR. Read a few posts to lift my spirits.
Anyway, car arrived and I got to the hotel. This place is hotter than I remember it. Fell asleep and woke up late Saturday afternoon. Took a taxi down to the working end of town. 50 dollars tucked into my shoe and a photostat of my passport in my pocket. That was it. Nothing else to be “lifted”. Oh, and the hotel’s card. That’s a relic from previous trips where you were kinda trashed and couldn’t remember the name of the hotel so just gave the taxi driver the card. Ouch, ouch, ouch, what dumb and irresponsible things I used to do.
It’s amazing what street vendors want to sell you. Anything from snakes in bottles to the inevitable (fake ?) Viagra to small power tools. What on earth am I going to do with a portable belt sander or a snake in a bottle? We’ve got more than enough snakes at home. Poor things. This must be the most expensive city on the planet. Maybe not for Expats who live there but certainly for the ordinary person in the street. So many people there.
People are generally polite and friendly especially in the financial and retail areas. Sure it’s got a seedier side (where we had our benders) but the guys seemed to prefer it there to the more formal parts of the city. They felt they could relax there with more ordinary people. They seemed to go there a lot.
Sunday was spent in preparation for site, going over the main packages, scopes of work, the blockplans, turning the layers off one by one. They had over 120 layers. Sheeze talk about overkill ! Letters of award, risk registers, etc. Didn’t venture out much. I inspected the mini bar and then closed it. Just didn’t do anything for me. Haven’t had any cravings since I stopped drinking. It’s almost like I’ve never had alcohol before. Felt confident going to sleep that night that things would be ok, certainly from a work perspective.
Next morning at 6 went for breakfast. Strange thing about that hotel is that they seem to have a 24 hour bar. Don’t know how they get past the tough local liquor laws, maybe it’s through hotel resident’s privileges? Or maybe you need to order a plate of chips (something to eat) and then booze can flow. Our country had a similar law a number of years ago. Sunday drinking had to be accompanied by food. So you would get 10 guys ordering one plate of the cheapest item on the menu and then everyone could get “legally” broken.
You can either get to the restaurant through the lobby or through the bar. I chose to walk through the bar for breakfastand at 6AM there are the guys swaying on barstools and getting merrily smashed. The bar never seemed to be less than one third full at that time of the morning.
Met the PM at 6:30 as agreed outside the hotel. Let me keep some anonymity here – his name is “Joe”. We drove to site with Joe talking non stop. He seemed to like ABBA. Was playing on repeat on the CD.
At site I was allocated an office in the cabin and introduced to most of the discipline leads. Normal kind of bunch. Intelligent, know their work, no-nonsense types. Maybe rough diamonds. There’s an equivalent clone on almost every project I’ve worked on. Went straight away on a brief site orientation tour and the usual safety inductions. The amount of manual labour was astounding.
I find it quite funny – Joe pronounces my name as “Bloose”. That’s cool, at least he’s co-operative and trying to be welcoming.
Rest of the day went normally with some review meetings and the usual claim strategy meetings and I left about 20:30 in a taxi back to the hotel. Had difficulty settling down and went for a walk and bought some supper from a vendor. Finally slept about 23:30. Body clock still on home time.
Tuesday morning. Breakfast at 6, taking my detour through the bar with the drunks swaying like pendulums on the stools and a few “ladies of the early morning” hanging around. This city certainly doesn’t sleep!
Picked up by Joe and driven to site. ABBA still on repeat on the CD. Pretty bulk standard morning. Then around lunch time I had just come back from seeing the structural guys when Joe grins broadly and says “Bloose, tonight we eat, eh?”. Gulp. I know what that means. Trying to look like Steven Segal interbred with Chuck Norris I say, yeah sure Joe, that would be great. Joe’s grin widens. “Good Bloose, we have a good time, you’ll see”.
Got back to the hotel and Joe’s waiting for me at 18:30 as arranged. Getting a bit sick of ABBA now. We drove north and into a kindof seedy area. Joe picks up my apprehension and says “Bloose you don’t worry. You will like this place huh?”. Double gulp.
Anyway we stop outside this place that looks like it was already ramshackle and semi-derelict long before the British first arrived on the scene. It’s seen some heavy duty mileage.
Go through the bead curtain and the smoke hits you like a 4 pound hammer on the forehead. Sheeze. The place was packed but Joe guides me to a booth in the far corner.
There were 6 of us there. Me, Joe and the other 4 were the lead engineers of various disciplines.
Had met all of them on site. They seem to enjoy this kind of event as Joe flourishes his company credit card with a big grin. It looks like the only time he can abuse it is when entertaining “guests” like me.
Looks like this booth is permanently allocated to them.
Joe kicks off the jamboree with an order for a round of beers. When they arrive I lean over to Joe and tell him with a straight face that I’m on a course of hectic medication and can’t drink currently. He eyes me suspiciously and I pull a small bottle of disprin out of my pocket.
This is a direct quote from one of my previous posts and it perhaps sums up the background to the culture and the approach to booze. My apologies if you’ve read it before but I think it’s a fair reflection:
Most of the guys in my line of work that I’ve met on engineering jobs in SEA and Eastern Europe seem to have colossal drinking capabilities that are hard-wired into their DNA. A simple response like “I don’t drink” will probably work very well around a polite dinner table in Europe or North America or elsewhere, but it is almost frowned upon amongst the clients that I need to work with. Drinking there is an ethos, a lifestyle and if you don’t drink it’s a sign of something wrong with you (ironically!). It’s difficult to explain if you haven’t gone through a few encounters with that setup.
It’s like a culture there and is notorious. Fit in or push-off. I don’t know which is worse: Eastern Europe or SEA.
I gave them a “believable” reason that I’m on medication and grudgingly there was an understanding. Certainly not a “come let me give you a hug” understanding, but at least they knew the reason. Tell them flat out “I can’t drink with you” and guess what happens: Suddenly when your connections to the various servers get broken, the techie takes 2 hours instead of 15 minutes to fix them, you find yourself referencing whole sets of drawings that are 2 or 3 revisions behind, site inspections are rescheduled at the last minute without you knowing, QCP’s get misfiled or are older revisions, want a quick red-line revision to a drawing – it gets put at the bottom of the draftie’s pile etc, etc. I’m not saying they are being vindictive, but just a lot less helpful, and instead of the extra resource they requested for assistance, you’re an “outsider”. I’ve seen it enough times, particularly in South East Asia, and not only related to alcohol consumption. You’ve got to fit in as seamlessly as possible or you are going to battle really hard to get co-operation.
Anyway Joe seems to accept it a bit grudgingly and asks me what I want to drink. Looks like I’ve got away with it!! Things are looking up. Now there’s five sets of eyes checking me out. I request a bottle of water and the whole table bursts into laughter. Joe nods and says “Bloose okay, next time – we will have lots of these celebrations”. Everyone is smoking and chatting and even my electrical cigarette is fired up. After another round of beers we order food. What delicious grub. Absolutely fantastic. Things are looking up even more. A few more rounds of beer accompany the meal.
After the main course Joe starts to up the ante. A bottle of Johnny Walker Red appears with six tumblers. The equivalent of about 2 shots is poured into each one and Joe crunches the cap in his hand and tosses it into the adjacent booth. By this time there were a couple of women that were hovering near our booth. I ask Joe how old they are. He says “Bloose of course they are 18”. They look about 12 years old to me.
I try and ignore the little girls as they stare at us. Our waitress comes up and I catch her eye and motion that she can have my tumbler. Her eyes light up like Guy Fawkes and she grabs the tumbler and carries it off like an Olympic trophy, Joe stares at me and says “Bloose we are not a bloody charity here”. Ouch.
A couple of crushed caps land on our table and there’s huge laughter from our group. Apparently this is a kindof “one-upmanship”. The table that launches the most crushed caps are deemed to be the “indisputable heavy duty drinkers” and command respect.
Soon there’s a dead marine on the table. The bottle’s empty. We take a break and have some of the most delicious lemon sorbet I’ve ever tasted. Order another one. General chit chat. Engineering opinions, (most engineers have the mistaken idea that their own design is the most robust / elegant solution), family news, they were very interested in my home country, jobs we’ve worked on, etc..
Joe excuses himself. A few minutes he’s back with the waitress in tow and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue on the tray. Damn!
It’s like they are competing in an All-Asia mega-drinking competition.
The same ritual. A crushed cap launched into the booth next door amid cheers and general laughter. This time there’s still six glasses. Seems like etiquette needed to be preserved. This puzzled me because after downing the first bottle, surely any subsequent alcohol would probably taste like petrol or drain cleaner afterwards, no matter how fancy the brand? It boiled down to pride and bragging rights, a statement to say “look other ‘peasants’, look what we can afford”. Anyway, the waitress had got wise by then and made off with my tumbler.
After about another hour or so that bottle close to becoming a dead marine and now the booth was really ticking. Most of the guys were obviously smashed.
At least these guys are not so much into their karaoke sessions (unlike some other countries in the region where karaoke seems to be the top national sport and religion rolled into one). But there was some guy slaughtering Ace of Base – All that she want’s is another baby. I was thinking “all that I want is another set of earplugs”. The more jungle juice that gets glugged down the more you start wishing for a power failure. The locals went wild with him, must be their local version of Elvis.
By now it was well into Wednesday and our table had become a bit subdued. An argument had broken out between two of the guys and Joe was examining something on the table, trying to focus. The electrical lead had his head resting on his arms.
I called over the waitress and said we needed to go. She just said “Taxi?”. I said “Yeah, but for them too.”
She knew them very well and wasn’t worried about the bill. First time I’ve experienced that! She reckoned Joe would be back tomorrow to settle and a taxi would know where to drop them off. Talk about honour amongst drunks!! That’s a first for me!
I got into my taxi, gave him my hotel card and suddenly started sobbing. I gave thanks that I was able to endure that in one piece, that I had somehow managed to get off the crocodile’s back that I had been riding for so long without getting eaten. I cried for my wife so far away and had put up with so much, for Joe and all the others in that wrecked drink-house, for the waitress who seemed to understand, for my own recovery, for the people who had supported me, for the people I had hurt. I stared out of the window through tear streaked eyes watching the city that never sleeps till we arrived at the hotel, which strangely was the only thing that seemed familiar.
Wednesday morning.
Didn’t expect Joe to pitch up so after breakfast got a taxi to site. Thank goodness no ABBA.
Let myself into the cabin and started the work that I had planned for that day.
About 10AM Joe gingerly walked in. “Bloose we had a proper good time last night eh? You enjoy it?” He seems to have overlooked my donations to the waitress. I didn’t quite know what to say so I got him a mug of coffee that would have dissolved the spoon if I had left it in longer. I noticed his hands were trembling slightly when he took it. And I could smell the booze. Maybe he got lucky with the random breathalyser at the gate?
Shortly thereafter the others arrived in dribs and drabs. They all reckoned it had been an epic evening and just the bee’s knees.
I busied myself with the things I had to do and didn’t see much of them until late afternoon. By then they seemed fine and were functioning “normally”. I didn’t see all of them though.
Left site at about 21:00 and went straight to bed. Strangely no insomnia or restless legs. Didn’t feel like supper.
Thursday generally a repeat, except ABBA accompanied by Joe picked me up. When I get home I’m going to buy an ABBA CD and shoot holes in it.
Tomorrow’s my last day. This was more like a reconnaissance trip although there were specific pieces of work that I completed.
My flight’s quite late tomorrow and Joe came up with the idea of a farewell lunch. Double Damn. He just grinned and said it wouldn’t be a problem.
Friday morning came all too quickly and we left at about 11AM.
I had my bags with me and we ABBA’d our way to the same decrepit grog-hole. Our booth was waiting. The place was about half full, guys getting warmed up for the weekend. Just as smoky and the karaoke is going like a two-stroke. Showed Joe my bottle of asprin and he nodded a bit grimly. “It’s ok Bloose, I understand”. A different take from Tuesday night.
This time there was no messing around with preliminaries. Joe had his foot firmly on the booze-accelerator.
Bottle of Johnny Walker Red appears. The waitress seems to remember me and a sealed 1 litre bottle of water is placed in front of me. Crushed cap goes flying across the room and amid much joviality the poison gets dished out. I tossed my plastic cap across the booths and there was a shout of delight as it bounced around. The waitress gets my tumbler and I get a huge smile in return.
I’ve set a limit of 14h00 to get out of here. Very soon the Marine is dead and buried. They switch to beer. I’m casting surreptitious glances at my watch.
Soon it’s time. Joe has just ordered another bottle of whisky and before the cap gets crushed and hurled across the room I stand up to take my farewell. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be. Seems like genuine feelings from the leads. Joe walks me to the door we shake hands and embrace. Seems like things are good between us. I ask him if he’s going to be ok. He replies things will be just fine. My report will be submitted by the end of next week. We just stand there, waiting for my taxi. Shake his hand one more time and I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to be ok. Joe disappears quickly back inside, maybe to see how much is left in the bottle?
Dump my stuff in the boot and ask the driver for the airport. Time to get the hell out of this city.
Mixed emotions running through me as we thread our way to the airport. Confusion, thanks, maybe some bewilderment, a lot of introspection. Check in, security (taking off your boots is a real pain but understandable I guess). Picked up some things at duty free for my wife and finally boarded. Plane’s not that full and thank goodness no mammoth next to me.
Why do East-West flights always seem so much longer than West-East flights?
Started working on my report and then gave it up. Just could not concentrate. And too much stuff running riot in my head. Decided instead to start my diary whilst it’s still fresh.
Coming home this time is easily the best homecoming I can remember for many years. My wife smiled when she saw me sober. Hugs and kisses and home in one piece and in peace.
Life seems so much better now. Won’t trade this for anything. Strong like a 100 lions.
Hope this post has been of some use?
Thanks again to those who have supported me here. Greatly appreciated! I hope I can reciprocate in some way.
Looks like I might be going back in 3 or 4 week’s time for a bit longer with a few other guys from the local office here. It doesn’t daunt me now though. Before this trip would have been a bog-standard work trip without a second thought. From now on it’s different. Staying sober is the way I choose consciously at the top of my mind from now on. There cannot be any turning back. Strangely I’m not apprehensive of going back to “our” booth and being in the company of people drinking. It’s their choice and it’s my imperative. I did it twice and I know I can do it as often as needed. Engage the no-drink autopilot. Need to take a private site drive with Joe next time and tell him my real story. If he gives me the hump, that’s fine. I doubt it somehow.
Strength and light and thanks for reading. Good luck with your continuing recoveries.
B.
Member
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2014
Posts: 437
Thanks, Aarryckha,
Much appreciated.
Previously, before I stopped drinking, this trip would have been like many of the others.
Like a row of streetlights that fades into the distance and eventually become indistinguishable from each other.
It just showed me what I have squandered and missed out on in the past.
Thanks for your kind comments and well done on your "clean time" too!
Keep it up,
B.
Much appreciated.
Previously, before I stopped drinking, this trip would have been like many of the others.
Like a row of streetlights that fades into the distance and eventually become indistinguishable from each other.
It just showed me what I have squandered and missed out on in the past.
Thanks for your kind comments and well done on your "clean time" too!
Keep it up,
B.
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