THE RIOT IN THE ORIENT



The Riot in The Orient is the name I gave to my first tour of the Far East. In a span of only thirty-two days, I traveled through six cities in six different nations. I had my first port of call in Hong Kong before journeying to Kuala Lumpur, Phnom Penh, Bangkok, Singapore, and wrapping up in Jakarta. It was a singular experience, not least in the quality of experiences it yielded--from the fantastic to the gloomy and downright regrettable. At the end of the tour, it felt like I had been on the road for thirty-two years; not thirty-two days.

As travel destinations go, the Far East is as close to complete as one can imagine--for its contrasts if for nothing else. You have the spick-and-span metropoles of Singapore and Hong Kong as well as the rustic country of Thailand’s Chiang Mai and Cambodia’s temple-studded Siem Reap. Subway trains as well as Tuktuks, first-rate restaurants as well as streetside hole-in-the-wall food stalls, the riotous nightlife of Bangkok on the one hand and the tranquil villages of Indonesia’s uplands on the other. It is a place of stark extremes, and an infinite range of choices in between. Few places spoil visitors with as much choice and variety.
Yet there is one realm that has been spared these yawning contrasts: the people. In all the countries I toured, the people were universally cordial—or at least universally mindful of their own business. Most of the time, they were as eager to help as they were to sate their curiosity about where I was from. I did get the occasional unsettling stare but as a rule, I weaved my way among them with little undue attention.

I visited all kinds of places: wax museums, temples, genocide memorials, flea markets, art galleries, theme parks, even go-go bars. I had moments of riotous fun as well as quiet contemplation. In the last analysis, however, it is the dozens of people I met on my path who made the deepest impressions. As my first trip to the Far East drew to a close, I knew it would not be my last.

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