Mike Sinkovich Tells You How It Is

Rotate Back

A small child, no more than three, wanders out of the pho shop to the street to lean against my table and wave a cleanly bandaged index finger at me. I mime compassion back with a point to my head, aching from a previous late night, and say 'ouch'. This seems enough to amuse her and she begins to dance and sing as I slurp my noodles. I haven't had breakfast this early in a long time, and I try to remember why I left my bed this early to go and get breakfast. The kid tires and sits on the stool opposite me, watching my strange chop-stick technique.

A US draft dodger from the 60's projects a quiet but impressive question from the next table that instantly stops my thoughts of what to do with the day,

"What do you believe in?"

I acknowledge his presence with a pause between mouthfuls, to signify the beginning of a thinking process, then fix my eyes back on the traffic. Two bikes somehow move through each other at high speed, feet away from where we are sitting. Neither of us flinch. The girl begins to sing.

While I try to exude the atmosphere of incredible knowledge, a thousand cliches run through my mind, each becoming more and more detached from what I actually believe. Confusion gives way to reason, and I respond with another question

"Are you talking religion or....."

I turn my head to take a full look at me interrogator, shocked to see an overweight, bald, tourist looking man. He grins back behind strip sunglasses and lights a cigar. The building heat of the morning and the smoke crawl over me and I begin to sweat. His face forms into an intense look of interest, thick rivers of smoke draining from his mouth as he answers.

"What do you believe in"

There is no question in his tone this time, it is a command. The kid clambers off her stool and begins to poke his arm with her bandage. For the first time I gain a feeling of humanity from the dodger as he plays up to her games, exclaiming fake pain when she jabs him. Apparently this is all she wanted, and wanders over to the edge of the busy road.

I have bought enough time to think of an answer that will move the conversation past its preliminary defences. I am intrigued.

"I don't believe in God, but I do believe that we are all connected, now more than ever. I don't know about reincarnation although I do wish for it to be true. I find modern religions to be lacking in their reach into a modern society.....the rest....."

The little girl ran back from the road singing louder than ever, her index finger seeking a path to my chest, upon which another "ouuuuch!" was exclaimed. Having fulfilled this duty she leaned against my knee, staring at the traffic with little interest. The cigar took a break from sucking the life out of the dodger, and he allowed his lungs to refill with exhaust fumes before he replied.

"When you get back, you won't know what to do. You've probably got more questions now than when you left. But you will remember what you left for, and everything up until now will make sense when you are alone again"

The child looked up at me blankly, inducing me to look back with an honest expression of confusion and fear. She began to sing again as the waitress brought me the bill.

"I have to go, I need to go check my flight is still happening to......."

"You're leaving tomorrow, yeah. Good luck"

I brush the kid out of the way and she spins off to another table, incorporating the interruption into her dance.

".......yeah urrrh......see you around man"

"you will"

The pavement became very light, and the morning warmth felt overpowering as I trudged back to my room for a shower. I don't know what that morning was about, but something put me there, and I don't need to know any more than that.

For Everyone Who Said I Was Crazy.....

Do you believe me now?

Happy Tet!

After a two weeks on the beach in Mui Ne, Captain Timbo and I decided it was time we got back on the road and headed further south down to Ho Chi Minh city (Saigon for anyone who didn't make it past 1975). After crashing in a very cheap but reflectively squalid room for one night, we caught a bus over the border into Cambodia to meet back up with Sarah and her friend Laura.

Phnom Penh provided a mixed entertainment of cheap but nice drinking establishments coupled with a shocking and quite disturbing realisation of the Khmer Rogue's genocide. That latter taking the form of a visit to prison of Thoul Sleng, a converted school preserved in time since its discovery, and the killing fields about 10km outside the capital. While the effects of finally visiting the places I have seen in films and books from an early age are still haunting me, I would recommend anyone who has yet to fully grasp the scale that the term "genocide" requires to visit Cambodia.

After five days in Phnom Penh we headed back for more beach time, and caught the appropriate bus down to the south coast. Beautiful weather and balmy nights provided a perfect scenario for Captain Timbo to take some "alone time" with Sarah on an island off the coast, which Mr Sinkovich took to a relatively strict and undemanding schedule of breakfast at 12pm, guitar on the beach until 4, some refreshing 50p beers in the late afternoon before dinner and a few white russians to reward a hard day at the office. During one evenings drinking I was privileged enough to meet the worlds most conversational American revolutionist whose ability to stun his audience with truly unoriginal political ideas was shadowed only by his track record for doing absolutely fuck all about them. Such was his ability to conduct a two way conversation, he managed to not only alienate, but piss off two young and highly suggestible US students that were within Mr Sinkovich's powers of persuasion only minutes before.

As a side note Mr Sinkovich would like recommend this guitar/beer schedule to any future employers as a sure-fire method of keeping him on-side, as it were. And please ignore his habit for referring to himself in the third person. He will be seeking help upon return to home soil.

So the days ticked on and the day to head back to Vietnam came round. After a short bus time session back to Phnom Penh, it was time to meet back up with Captain Timbo for a final salute goodbye in the form of an Indian meal (ironic considering where we started off), a few drinks around town before catching a tuk-tuk out to a local night club. Although I intended to partay the night away, my services were.....ahem, required elsewhere and so I bid a premature (being the only thing premature about the evening.....sorry, couldn't resist) goodbye high-five to Captain Timbo and Sarah, knowing that this would be the last I would see of the 'ol bastard for some time.

So I have been back in Vietnam for two days now, and it feels good to be back. After getting in late yesterday, and wandering around trying to find a cheap place to stay, I spend the rest of the evening asleep. Today was a hard day of buying toothpaste, shampoo, and playing my guitar in the park. Back to the grindstone indeed.

Since Captain Timbo has been honourably discharged, my new second in command will be landing tomorrow and will take the form of General Si. Unfortunately for me, he lands early in the morning, so I will have to get some shut eye before I go and find him at the airport. Fortunately for him he will be landing on the first day of the Tet festival, and so there is much partay on the schedule for the General.

I wish all you scumbags a happy Tet, and much luck for the future year!