Don't Tell Mum: Hair-raising Messages Home from Gap-year Travellers

by Hoggart, Simon

  Got a new mission to occupy my evenings for the next 2 weeks. Was in the pub on Sunday, and in walks one of our friends, Steve + 1. The +1 happens to be called Parker, and is drop-dead gorgeous. I mean really, really fit. Sooooo, I can’t really speak, and decide to flirt with Sam in our typical flirty relationship. Parker is well quiet and sitting on my other side. So I break the ice, we chat a bit, all going pretty well, but he is quite shy and sweet, and I realize that it’s love, with the big L. Anyway, I quickly think up plan to get him to our house, so invite them all swimming and for after-pub drinks etc. It all seems great, he’s really keen. About an hour later, we’re now quite close, but I’m being really subtle, thinking I have loads of time to charm him … but him and Steve say they have to go and have supper, but maybe see us later. When they’ve left, it’s just me and Joe and Sam, so we go swimming. I then explain my new infatuation, and they are shocked, and tell me he’s a wanker, and all this stuff. I finally get them to explain why, it’s because he shags all the fit women …

  A delicate touch at the end there, worthy of Jane Austen. The email then becomes what psychologists call a cry for help.

  Question is: I have been to his pub twice, which is apparently where he hangs out, but can’t quite think of the necessary excuse to stop off at his workplace. I drastically need your help. So reply NOW! Joe says that the fact that he is called Parker is enough for me not to fancy him. Jamie says I will just get hurt. But I know I can change him …

  Yes, dear, of course you can. And one day Jade Goody will rewrite the theory of relativity. Luckily this young woman has an older sister, who replies with wise counsel.

  Not sure what to say about your dilemma. I think it is a bit much to stalk him, only very rarely are stalkers successful in their attack, and usually it is through sleuth [stealth?] and anonymity in their pursuit, so the subject does not realize he is being stalked. I fear, even from thousands of miles away, that you may not be the subtlest of pursuers. What does he do? Could you visit him at work, let out a gasp of surprise along with ‘Do you work here? Didn’t I meet you the other day? I just came in for some stamps, novelty masks, double glazing etc.’

  Personally I think you should leave it, but then we are very different people, and as long as you don’t call your children Parker, it’s up to you. Maybe you could persuade everyone and their +1s to come for a supper party then give the wrong day to all others except this guy and, I suppose, his introducing friend, lock irritating friend in the loo with some stuffed vine leaves and with an ‘Oh, look, we’re all alone!’ exclamation proceed to show him your tattoo. (And get some henna, I have a feeling it may last longer than this relationship.)

  After a while you get a feeling that sexual disappointment is built into the gap-year system. This young man had been touring around South-East Asia, and was on his way to Australia.

  There is something about being on a plane that completely alters the way I view myself. I begin to think that I am irresistible to women. This train of thought begins in the check-in lounge as a twinge of self-confidence around the opposite sex, and gradually increases on the walk on to the plane. By the time I am in my seat and belted in, this twinge will have mutated into the all-out delusion that I am an instrument, sent down from heaven by God himself, for women to be charmed by and attracted to. I have no idea what causes this chemical reaction, though I did once think that cocaine may have been passed through the air vents, though this seems a touch far-fetched. Thus, on the flight to Sydney, it was with a head oversized with self-assurance that I began chatting with the woman next to me – a fairly hot 26-year-old in advertising.

  Every movement she made, and every word she said, confirmed in my drugged mind that my irrepressible 19-year-old charm was working on her and she was coming on to me. Before long, was envisaging a sordid, 3-day affair at her trendy pad in central Sydney. However, these castles in the air that I had been building since take-off – by this point each came with servants, 16th century tapestries and a working portcullis – crumbled and fell when she mentioned she had a boyfriend.

  Not all was lost, though, as she promised to give me a free lift to the youth hostel.

  Sometimes a tone of near desperation sneaks in. This is from email-land, somewhere in Africa.

  It’s my birthday tomorrow and I am making everyone dress up. All very unimpressed. I made the mistake of suggesting chavs. At least everyone would have a costume. Unappreciative silence, so quickly changed that to African, and so am wearing a flag as a dress. (Very short, and see-through, as am fed up with this no-action stuff.)

  Going travelling this weekend with 5 boys. Am making everyone share one bed under the false pretence that it’s budgeting. It’s actually because I can’t not pull if there are five of them. Can I? (That was a joke, in case you didn’t get the sarcasm. I am not a slut.)

  Of course not, dear, what could have given us that idea?

  Valentine’s Day was mental. Roger, fat boxer guy and potential date, feigned illness so he wouldn’t have to go with me. Apparently he is scared of my ‘perpetual enthusiasm and hyperactivity’. I didn’t know he knew what those words meant. It wasn’t as if I was going to lunge. Anyhow, my nice friend Dan became my date and all was rosy. Not literally, obviously, because Ghana doesn’t do anything classy, think more glittery, popping out cards, and plasticky teddies / fluffy hair ties.

  It could be worse. She could be in the middle of the Australian outback, like this poor lass.

  I definitely couldn’t live out here, it seems like a very lonely life, especially after Sydney, and the fact that I am living with two reserved grown-ups and two kids under nine doesn’t help to spice things up. The slight saviour is the Irish farmhand, he has just left uni, and is farming out here for three months. However, when I first saw him in the swimming pool yesterday he seemed to find me very embarrassing and blushed every time I spoke to him.

  I definitely wouldn’t describe him as a conversationalist and have to say that he is about as interesting as mud, but at least I can go and talk at him when I’m bored, it’s brilliant because he doesn’t interrupt any of my fascinating stories … am going to the beach this weekend, but won’t venture into the sea as there have been quite a few shark attacks recently and don’t really like the idea of being eaten. Tibby, very proud of your skydiving and snogging achievements …

  This young woman is also in Australia, but seems to have fallen in with some New Zealanders who are rather more articulate than the Irish farmhand.

  All the boys went to an all-day rave on New Year’s Day, but I’m afraid that I am far too sweet and innocent for that, and went to the beach, it was 44 degrees, hottest day in 50 years, and I managed to get burned through my Factor 60 sunblock, and now look like Rudolph with a red peeling nose. Two nights ago the Kiwi boys took us to King’s Cross, which is the seedy, gross part of Sydney, and took us to a strip bar, never seen anything so disgraceful in my life. The boys bought a lap dance and watched while a naked girl writhed all over us, playing with her boobies and fanny. I didn’t know where to look, all highly embarrassing. She had had her clit pierced, which was rather interesting. When we asked her about it she said that it hurt to get it done, but has improved her sex life by 200%, so there we go, girlies. Must dash, have to go to the supermarket to buy some yoghurt, don’t get me started on the yoghurt, it’s unbelievably amazing.

  As I say, gappers always find a consolation, even if it is only yoghurt. The next, not entirely dissimilar, experience came from a new graduate who took a gap year in Thailand after his course had finished. He writes in a deliberately mannered style, as twenty-two-year-olds sometimes do.

  Upon achieving an advanced state of over-refreshment, we settled on the idea of venturing to Patpong Road [Bangkok], thinking to see some of the fine night market there. After arriving we somehow ended up in an establishment called Super Pussy, a form of cabaret or vaudeville featuring several young women in various states of disrobement, demonstrating some of the extraordinary to
ol-using abilities of the female genitalia. Shocked by this vulgarity we could only stay for an hour or so, before heading in the direction of more genteel entertainment. Sadly, it appeared that every club on this road was full of the same villainous thing, in most cases of a higher quality and with more becoming performers. Upon the hour of midnight, with our pockets quite empty …

  Going to clubs can be a mistake, especially when they turn out to be brothels. This young man was touring Argentina with his girlfriend. She had lost a game of Jenga, and her forfeit was to buy drinks. Which meant going somewhere where drinks could be bought.

  Enforcing Susi’s Jenga punishment had always been unlikely, however somehow at some time after midnight we found ourselves a little tipsy in a taxi heading towards the village and the seediest dive in town. I could write forever about that fateful night, but I’ll cut it short. Basically we ended up in a place called Rouge, where 50-year-old American businessmen go to receive what they can’t get at home. We were completely out of place, and when we got the bill found ourselves completely out of pocket. My first piece of gap-year advice: if you ever find yourself in a dirty club after a drunken game of Jenga, remember that when you buy a drink in one of these facilities, you are in fact buying time. So it is kind of expensive. And the proprietors of these establishments aren’t very nice, when we told them we didn’t have the money, we were threatened with the police again. Then they wanted our watches, so we paid up. At the end the owner had the balls to put his arm around me and asked me when I was returning.

  Yes, you’d think that gappers would realize by now that clubs in foreign lands are always, almost without exception, a bad idea. When it comes to a fine evening’s entertainment, a good book and a milky drink are a much better idea. This younger woman was in Queensland.

  Night began, me and Hat sitting at the bar, when this fit guy comes over and asks if we’ll do the podium competition for 8 free drinks, me trying to flirt, giggle and say ‘of course’. Why not? 8 free drinks. Don’t know really what I was thinking of as didn’t even know what a podium was, but anyway persuaded Hat to do it, reluctantly. We both forgot about it and carried on drinking away when suddenly everyone is ushered into this one room. As I walk in I suddenly realize what a podium is when I see this cage in the middle of the room, 10 feet in the air, with a dirty slapper dancing topless in the middle of it, grinding against the side. Next thing I know, my name is being called and I am climbing up this ladder on to this tiny platform. Help!

  Men cheering, music begins, me frozen, giggling, looking around, Hat on the floor in hysterical giggles and saying ‘copy me’ as she dances away. I start, stop, giggle, look around to all the men (about 300) with their hands out, thumbs pointing down, saying ‘booooo’. Makes me laugh even more … I swear it was the longest minute of my life. What made it worse was that Hat then got up and shook her boobs and won the competition, so I had to walk around with this goddess all night and men giving me the ‘what WERE you thinking?’ look. I swear I will never enter a podium competition again.

  Over in China, some chaps had more positive experiences. This boy is also travelling with his girlfriend, who seems to be an adaptable type of person.

  We went to a bar called the Bird Bar, inside an old building, it’s very dark with low sofas everywhere. It’s a bit hippy, but kind of cool, last night everyone was wasted and dancing, the only light in the place came from candles, in a dark sweaty atmosphere people started losing their inhibitions. It started when a cool 18-year-old Chinese hippy babe took her top off, she was dancing around with her tits out, pretty soon a lot of the guys had taken off their tops … I went out to roll a spliff, then I went back inside. I wasn’t ready for what I saw. Everyone in the bar had taken some clothes off, every girl had her tits out, and about three possibly Korean girls and the 18-year-old hottie were just dancing in their thongs. I would like to say now that I am officially not lying.

  It was maybe the most fucked-up night I have ever had, the bar turned into some drum and bass orgy, almost naked fit Asian girls were dancing with me, and when Billie saw how interested the 18-year-old minx was in me she immediately took her top off and got up to dance, at one point I was sandwiched between a fit Korean girl in a thong and Billie. I don’t mean this to sound like I’m boasting or making up bullshit, the girls out here love foreigners, and since all the other guys were about thirty-something geeky-looking hikers, they fucking loved the English guy with the spiky hair. Later on I went to take a piss, the toilet only has bamboo screens for doors, so I’m there taking a leak, when a fit Chinese woman bursts in, she was obviously wasted, and without saying anything she leans over (I still have my todger out at this point, though I have finished pissing) and kisses me on the lips, then she spots me glancing at her chest, so she cups one tit in each hand, and jiggles them sexily, then disappears. Thinking back to last night this morning, it seems like a weird hedonistic dream, not what I had come to expect from Chinese people at all …

  I’ll say. The eternal wisdom of Confucius may not have penetrated to some rural areas. Or, as the old joke has it: ‘British man: Shall we try some 69? Chinese woman: I’m not cooking for you at this time of night …’

  Another young man in China had a calmer, charming experience. He had been introduced to a twenty-year-old Chinese girl who had excellent English.

  I may as well tell you that I seriously fancy this girl, she’s funny, gorgeous, and she speaks with this sexy London / Chinese accent. She came to the Hallowe’en party on Thursday, and ended up sleeping in my bed … no, nothing like that, I was sleeping on the floor like a gentleman. Next day I went with her to get my hair cut, and just as we were about to leave she looks at me with her beautiful Chinese eyes and says ‘So, do you want me to give you a kiss?’ Hmmm, let me think … so she leans forward and kisses me on the lips, and just stands there smiling. I think I’m in love.

  He is even more smitten when he discovers that in her part-time work as a tour guide she gets very bored.

  So she makes up things to tell the tourists. In fact, she’s always lying about everything, but it’s just funny because her lies are so stupid, e.g. ‘You know, in the south of China they train very small pandas to work in restaurants, they bring the food to you on a little tray tied to their heads.’ Me and her get on great.

  Back to Thailand, where many strange things happen, especially to young girls:

  Went to the Half Moon party, which was absolutely shockingly bad, really bad! Lots of trance music, which was too loud, and quite crap. The day afterwards I was having my lunch, and there were three people who looked really worried. One of the girls’ boyfriends hadn’t come back; at 2 he turned up and it was like Eastenders, live and for free. He had been drugged and lost all memory, but woke up in a hut with a ladyboy, love bites and all his money stolen! And now an ex-girlfriend – pretty harsh but really quite amusing!

  Thailand also seems to quiver with sexual ambiguity. These three British girls decide to go for a massage.

  It works out at about £3 for an hour. We went in for a full body oil massage and headed upstairs to a spooky little room. There was no turning back now. Sara bravely said she’d have the Thai man, and we thought we’d be safe with the women. We were wrong. We lay side by side and even had some banter with the women. It was all lovely until my lady flipped me over, got my breasts out, and started vigorously massaging them. I was a little shocked to say the least, and didn’t have much say in it. Jacqui looked over and said ‘Jesus!’, and then I started to laugh. The lady said, ‘Oh, you’re not shy, are you?’ and I just lay there shocked. Then she did my back, and I was violated once more when she went on to my bum. She kept slapping it in a strange way, and saying ‘Oooh, lovely …’ The others had normal massages with no violations, but I guess it’s all character-building. Hope the sun is shining in the UK.

  Misunderstandings can come from the simplest of causes.

  Went to the market [in Africa] and got given a strappy top advertising a new inter
net company. On the front it says ‘fast, cheap and easy’. So I decided the donor must have been well into irony. My friend got given one saying ‘friends are forever, boys are whatever’, surely it’s better to look like a tart than a lesbian …

  Or misunderstandings can be created deliberately. This is from a young man who is about to leave Greece and go home.

  One last weird story before I leave you all. In the airport in Athens I began talking to this Lebanese guy. He told me that he travelled a lot due to his job. I asked him what he did, and he said: ‘Oh, my friend, this is an amazing opportunity for you. You can become rich and travel, if you work with me and my friends.’

  I started getting worried that he was going to plant a drug-trafficking assignment on me, but it turns out that he was a wacko trying to force a pyramid-selling scheme on me. He was crazy. He kept telling me how he liked me deeply and could tell I had dreams and ambitions. Then he started touching my leg with his pen and drawing circles on my knee. It was then that I rushed a hurried goodbye. However, he caught me in an embrace before I could get out and kissed me on the ear. I ran like hell. WHAT A WEIRDO????? Anyway, I return to mundane life working in a pub in England.

  Perhaps the most unfair thing that can happen to a gapper is to be treated for a sexual disease without actually having had sex. This is from a girl touring India.

  Mummy, just went to the doctor’s again, and the nice man told me to take some pills, so I did, and have just looked on the internet and found that they are for ‘unexplained swelling of the scrotum after sex’, but don’t worry, I did some more research and they are also for bacterial infections etc. If you could check for me with Dr Hutchins if this is okay, I have been told to take one 500mg tablet of Aziwok (for my scrotum) once a day an hour before breakfast for 3 days, then one tablet of Voveran SR 75 twice a day for three days after food. Am really worried about this scrotum business because I didn’t think I had one. Still missing you x x x