Last India Overland (2 page)

We became pretty good friends one night after I heard him play the mandolin and fiddle. I had this band going, a garage band called Cosmic Mucus. Me and a couple friends. Fat Man played drums, the Ace of Spades played bass. But we needed somebody who could play all kinds of instruments and that’s what Rice-Eater could do. He could play everything from tambourine to auto harp to piano, and play it well.

Of course he couldn’t sing worth a damn. That was my job. Along with playing the occasional hot lick on my Les Paul acoustic that’d burn Eric Clapton’s fingers. But just thinking about a C chord now makes that place where my right hand used to be ache.

Anyway, Rice-Eater’s old man was filthy rich. Rumour had it that some of that filthy cash came straight from Thailand’s Golden Triangle. Didn’t bother Cosmic Mucus. It’s nice to have someone around who always picks up the tab at the bar and pizza joint after a gig.

One night we were over in his old man’s garage in West Van, practising for a high school grad dance, me and my girl friend at the time, Nancy Pickles. Nancy sometimes threw in the harmonies but she didn’t really like my buddies in the band much. She thought they had a bad influence on me.

During breaks we’d smoke some pot and listen to Pink Floyd’s
Bad Side of the Moon,
and we were listening to “Money” when Rice-Eater asked me if I’d like to make some. I said, “Sure.”

He said, “Ever hear of the Ko Samui Mushroom?”

I said, “Nope, what kinda music they play?”

“They ain’t a band, Mickers,” Rice-Eater said in this kind and patient voice. “They’re a psychedelic. Like what Fat Man goes out to pick every spring and fall in the Fraser Valley.” I said, “Great, you got some? I’ll put ’em on my Shreddies in the morning.”

Fat Man let out a laugh. The Ace was pulling a comb through his Afro curls and dancing by himself to the music. Nancy was off by herself, smoking a cigarette. She thought the band didn’t let her sing enough. She was right. She made us sound too good maybe, and Rice-Eater, in some weird way, was the head honcho in the band even though I sang.

Fat Man was sitting on an old kitchen chair. He leaned towards me and I was worried about the legs on the chair buckling. A little bit of spit trickled down from the left side of his mouth across all four chins. He said, “This is where the money comes in, Mickers. You go get Rice-Eater here some mushrooms and you’ll be rich.”

Of course the guys knew I owed Revenue Canada a few bucks. I hadn’t paid any taxes since I turned eighteen. And they’d finally caught up to me.

Fat Man told me the Ko Samui was supposed to be the top psychedelic around. Ten times better than your best microdot. Hundred times better than the Fraser Valley mushroom. He said Buddhists use them in their sacred rituals.

He said, “And you’re going to love those little Thailand cuties, Mickers.”

He said this in a whisper so Nancy wouldn’t hear it. But I knew Nancy heard what he was saying. She’s got good ears.

Little twinkles of joy danced in Fat Man’s eyes. He pursed those prissy fat lips of his and said, “I hear they’ve got cute little jungle bunnies on these Thai islands you can rent for a few bucks a day and they’ll be happy to fuck you all day long.”

Nancy shot this look our way, I saw it out of the corner of my eye.

Rice-Eater laid the scam on me. All I had to do was fly to Thailand and contact this uncle of his and he’d take me to the island of Ko Samui where I’d scoop up some mushrooms, put them in the bottom of a false-bottom suitcase, and then fly to Paris. I’d have the words Jim Chui, Kitsilano, B.C. on the suitcase tag. I’d leave it in Paris and some guy who worked in customs would pick it up and take it from there, that’s all there was to it. Rice-Eater said a cousin of his could give me three thou up front for travel expenses.

Sounded easy.

I told them I’d think about it.

That night when we got back to her apartment, Nancy told me she didn’t like the idea. I’d be gone a long time, she said, she’d miss me. She said I might get into some trouble.

The next day I ran into Hasheeba on the corner of Davie and Granville. She was passing out Moonie pamphlets to hookers. I told her I was thinking about going to Thailand.

“You’ve got money to go to Thailand?” she said.

I said oh, yeah. Real nonchalant.

“Enough to take me with you?” she said.

“ ’Fraid not, sis,” I said. I called her sis. Couldn’t call her Jackie. Not that I didn’t like the name Hasheeba. I did. It just didn’t feel right coming out of my mouth.

She said, “Well, if you’re going there, you might as well make it interesting.”

She said she saw this brochure the other day about a tour bus that went from London down through Europe and across Asia to India and Kathmandu.

“That’d be a great trip,” she said. “Thailand’s not far from Nepal.”

I dropped by her little attic apartment that night and took a look at the brochure, and she was right, it did sound like a great trip.

NOW TASMANIA'S TAURUS TOURS CAN OFFER YOU THE TRIP OF A LIFETIME! IT'S AN AMAZING ELEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE JOURNEY THROUGH THE CULTURAL HIGH SPOTS OF EUROPE AND ALONG THE ANCIENT CARAVAN ROUTES THAT LEAD BACK INTO A RICH AND FASCINATING HISTORY, AND THE SHADOWY FORBIDDEN LAND. BEST OF ALL, YOU CAN SEE IT FROM THE COMFORTABLE SEATS OF OUR MERCEDES BENZ COACHES, SPECIALLY DESIGNED FOR LONG-DISTANCE COMFORT. YOU'LL VISIT TWELVE COUNTRIES IN ALL, FROM BELGIUM TO NEPAL!

Okay, happy travellers, this is it, the trip of a lifetime. You'll start your journey in Bruges, a beautiful port city with a strong medieval aspect, and from there you’ll sample your way through various heady brews on your way through Heidelberg and Munich. After the wild and smoky nightclub scene, you'll need some fresh air, so it’s up to Innsbruck to expand your lungs a little. Then it’s down to Venice for a romantic gondola ride by moonlight! Don’t get too romantic, though, because a dynamite drive down the Dalmatian coast to Dubrovnik is next on the agenda and you don’t want to miss that, or the scenery you’ll see as you wend your way through the Black Mountains on your way to Platamonas, at the foot of Mount Olympos. There you'll be tempted by the same temptations that tempted the ancient gods. (Watch out for that Retsina! She's a wicked one!) In Athens, you’ll ogle the Parthenon and boogie all night at ethnic tavernas. In Istanbul, you’ll snap up bargains at the Grand Bazaar and get down on your knees inside the Blue Mosque. We can also assure you that you’ll have plenty of opportunity to sample lots of Turkish Delight! Then it’s on to the wonderful southern beaches of Turkey, the Trojan Horse and the Temple of Diana. Hope you didn’t forget your wooden hay and suntan oil and film! You'll be knocking back raki in Canakkale and snapping pictures of the petrified waterfalls at Pamukkale and the underground caves at Kaymakli. You’ll say stop, stop, it’s all too exquisite, but you haven't seen anything yet! There’s the spectacular moonscape at UrgUp and the "City of

Tombs” at Kayseri. There are amazing carpets to be seen and, perhaps, purchased, in Sivas and Erzurum. And then it’s on to Iran, where sweet things abound! You’ll visit Esfahan, the "City of Roses and Nightingales,” and Persepolis, where you'll see the world’s most impressive ruins, and Tehran, home of the world’s most impressive Crown Jewels, but don’t let them dazzle you, there’s lots more to see and experience yet! Next, it’s Gorgan, near the Caspian Sea, and Mashhad, Iran's holiest city. You’ll drive through the Shah’s hunting estate where you’ll see the bears, boars and tigers that roam there free. Afghanistan is next. Keep a watch on your cameras because you'll be travelling through outlaw towns where banditry is the rule of the day. Fear not! You’re in capable hands. Feel free to admire the scorching desert around Kandahar, the thriving black market in Kabul, the wondrous beauty of the Khyber Pass. You're going where Alexander the Great did not fear to tread. Though we’re certain you’ll enjoy the view more than he did! On down the road, it’s Pakistan. Your bartering skills should be well honed by now, so keep a sharp eye out for bargains in Lahore. No. Kim’s Gun is not for sale. What's next? Just the Switzerland of the Orient, that's all. After a breathtaking drive to the Kashmir Valley, you’ll find yourself in a luxurious houseboat on the waters of the beautiful Lake Dal. You'll find yourself walking through “The Garden of Love.” Look out for those brambles! After that, it's down to the Punjab, to Amritsar, where you’ll visit the Golden Temple, gleaming with gold leaf in the Punjabi sun. The dazzler of the trip? Don’t be so sure, because the Jama Masjid in Delhi and the Taj Mahal at Agra are still to come. The trip should stop right there, because what can you do for an encore, after the magnificent Taj? How about the erotic sculptures at Khajraho? And you won't stop there, either. It’s on to Benares, where you’ll take a boat ride at sunrise along the Ganges. Snake charmers will put on a show for you, and shady characters in shadier back streets will offer you puffs from their hookahs, and sacred cows will leave surprises for you on every sidewalk if you don’t watch your step! You’re nearing the end of your journey now. It’s on to Nepal, where you'll sleep where the Buddha once slept, in Bhairawa, and you’ll have a chance to see Mt. Everest, once you arrive in the magical city of Kathmandu, and once you see Kathmandu, you’ll never want to go home.·

*This was not part of the package I received from Kathmandu. I found the entire Taurus Tours brochure in Kelly’s apartment beneath a stack of astrological charts. — D. W.

from Kelly’s diary

Oct. 1

New York. A film noir hotel off Broadway. City’s a scream. A cabbie screams when we offer him a traveller’s cheque. A lunatic screams as he beats a car with a newspaper. Desolation screams from the eyes of the addicts & hookers in Times Square. Trains scream past below the sidewalk grates. Meanwhile I roll along merrily, a true 3rd wheel, while F & C. walk along hand in hand, wistfully hoping for a full moon when we get to the Taj Mahal. We’ve seen Greenwich Village, Little Italy, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building & about 3 doz. museums & art galleries. Last night saw Neil Young at Madison Square Gardens, & night before that
A Chorus Line
on Broadway. Neil sang a great song I’ve never heard before, think it’s called “Powder and the Finger.” Right now we’re at JFK, waiting for Freddy Laker, who’s late. It’s

2 in the morning. F & C. doze in each other’s arms on the carpet, while around them a janitor sweeps up dust & fluorescence.

Mick

Nancy Pickles and me were right in the middle of a bad scene, basically, the night before I left, when there was suddenly this loud pounding knock on the door.

“Open up in there!” hollered a voice. “Police!”

I recognized the voice. Fat Man’s.

The last time he’d played this trick he’d disguised his voice and I’d flushed away two lids of prime Colombian.

But I went and flushed the toilet anyway, just to play along, and while I put on my clothes Nancy told me to get rid of him quick.

I said I’d do my best.

After all, what could be more fun than dealing with Nancy’s tears? Not that I’m a bastard, necessarily. It’s just that we’d already tracked across the same territory twice in the last twenty-four hours.

I opened the door and there they were, Fat Man, Rice-

Eater and the Ace of Spades, grinning at me like lovesick gargoyles.

“Bye-bye, Mickers!” they sang in high falsetto.

Now those are good buddies. It was my bye-bye, Mickers bash.