Detained - Part II

The pen poised over the page, my hands now shaking so violently that I can hardly hold the pen let alone write anything I forced my hand down onto the page.    I had given up – now sobbing uncontrollably I signed the page, but with some of my wits still about me wrote in plain English below my name – (this has been signed under duress).

As my pen finished signing he pulled the page and abruptly left the room.  

I was incredibly sad; no one knew where I was.  What would mum and dad think when I just disappeared?   Would anyone ever find out, or would I just be a family mystery that future generations talked about in hushed whispers.  Or would they think I just didn’t care anymore and just vanished.   Clearly this is not what I had expected for my life - I was just starting to actually live my life and finding my confidence and feet in the world.

What seemed like an eternity later two guards came into the small interrogation room, shouting once again in Thai and with one on either side of me half dragging me out of the room…..  ”This is it I thought to myself”. 

At some point they had retrieved my backpack – everything had been pulled out and gone through with anything of value being taken, fortunately in those days I had traveler’s cheques so luckily I still had money, just not in a quickly convertible form…..thank goodness.   All of my clothes were strewn over the floor of a larger room to which I was roughly pushed into.   As they left the room, I retreated and began gathering my clothes and what was left of my belongings.   Nothing but uncertainty prevailed – what’s next I thought frantically?  My mind was racing……was I going to be taken somewhere and disposed of or were they going to do it right here in this room?

Extreme exhaustion over took me as I squatted in the corner, terrified and shaking, my breathing rough and uneven.   Everything was a blur, my head ached, my eyes were stinging.  I was filthy and grimy; my clothes reeked with the smell of fear.  (I've got to tell you it’s the most putrid smell know to man with lots of ammonia mixed into the stench of sweat and tears for good measure).    

After what felt like an eternity they returned, but to my surprise instead of putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger one of the soldiers said in broken English that I was free to go.   Did I hear him right - I was being released?   Well, not a simple release, a better way to describe it was “man handled” out onto the street – pushed and shoved by the overzealous soldiers till I was outside the door but free non-the-less!  

Tanks on the streets of Bangkok

Literally thrown onto the busy Bangkok street, my nerves still jangling, the street was a cacophony of noise and sounds, with loads of military vehicles zooming to and fro and crowds of people hovering around the doorway to the building that I had just exited.   I guess they were waiting for word of loved ones also being detained – who knows.   


The experience had been completely overwhelming and my state of mind was not in a place where I could handle this setting too much longer. My immediate reaction was to “get the hell” out of there as quickly as I could, but was I really free or were they watching me?  I felt the paranoia rise in me which kept me very edgy, I had seen enough of what Thailand had to offer and i desperately wanted out.   Making my way back to the airport complex only to be confronted with more military and tanks and vehicles of every size and shape clogging the roads was more than enough to last me a lifetime.

The next challenge was getting out of the country…..

Without an onward ticket already booked it was going to be difficult as it looked like every westerner in Thailand also wanted to leave, so as you can imagine the airport was mayhem.   After hours of waiting in a line as longer than a football field I finally was getting close to the front of the ticket counter.  Completely conscious of my disheveled and unkempt look and trying to keep my composure or what was left of it I was finally beckoned to the wicket.

The airline agent looked at my ticket and shook her head – “you don’t have a booked flight”.   I said that I wanted to book it now; she shook her head again and said that was impossible and asked me to step aside so she could serve the next passenger.   I’m not proud to say that I completely lost it – I screamed that I wanted to book my flight now!  I told her in no uncertain terms that I did not intend to leave the line until I had a flight booked and a seat confirmed.

Can you imagine what it must have looked like, basically a street person, seemingly unbalanced wanting to get on a flight…..any flight using an unbooked ticket.   In retrospect this clearly had the potentially adverse effect of only drawing attention to me from the soldiers and security guards that were mingling ominously in the crowd but I wasn't in a sound mental state at this point….   


Fortunately for me a supervisor having been half listening to the conversation took me to one side to try and calm me down.   Thank goodness I thought.  I then went onto explain an abridged version of what had transpired over the past 24 hours and that I really needed to get out of the country as soon as possible.   He asked me to step to one side, but not to leave the area so he could see what he could do for me, so making no promises he took my ticket and began conversing with another supervisor behind the counter.   Phone calls were made and much conversation as time ticked by but within the hour he was back with news.

Little Mermaid - Copenhagen

"I can get you to Copenhagen" he announced proudly – the flight leaves at 8:00 pm.   Not exactly my plan but it would do and I thanked him profusely.   I still had some hours to kill and I couldn’t relax or rest until I was actually in my seat and airborne.  Those were some of the longest hours of my life, trying to keep a low profile and out of plain view.....yes, more paranoid behavior but who can blame me after my ordeal!

Once on my flight I slept like the dead……complete and utter exhaustion set in once I sat down in my middle seat. I pity the poor people sitting on either side of me, not that I can remember much of the flight but I must have smelt disgusting.

Next stop Copenhagen!

Detained.....Part I

I’ll never forget the voice of the captain as he said “please remain calm, but we’ve just got word that there’s been a military coup in Thailand.   Please report to your consulate or embassy as soon as you’re able after arrival”.   Strange how those words sounded – almost surreal.  Was I dreaming?  I remember pinching myself to see if I was asleep or if I had imagined the announcement.  With less than an hour before our scheduled landing at Bangkok’s international airport it was with a sense of naivety that I had no real concern for my safety…..   This is what I had signed up for - non-stop adventure I thought to myself.   As we made our final approaches to the airport I noticed that the runway was crammed with military vehicles, including a line of tanks facing the runway.   Touching down we were now heading away from the terminal - where were we going?   What on earth had I gotten myself into I thought as the bus came to a halt?

TW circa 1986

The plane had parked some distance from the terminal, as were all of the planes that were landing.  With the captain’s voice still reverberating in my head we deplaned onto buses, soldiers ringed the tarmac as we came down the steps and walked toward the bus.  More soldiers in full battle dress on the bus, automatic weapons at the ready and with rather surly dispositions I thought to myself as I observed them.

In those days, I had long hair (hey it was the 80’s) and after living in Darwin I really only had shorts and t-shirts to wear along with my thongs (thongs in Australia are what North Americans call “flip flops”).  And given the climate and the locale I blended in nicely……or so I thought.

In the years leading up to my trip there had been a lot of press about the crackdown on drug couriers across South East Asia.  Even today the majority of Asian countries have extremely strict laws and penalties associated with drug trafficking.  In Australia the most famous was the capture of Kevin Barlow and Brian Chambers in Malaysia in 1983.  Prior to me leaving Australia they had been front page news, particularly since they had both been convicted and sentenced to death.

I remember the terminal as a complete and utter mad house as we were ushered in by the military from our bus.  Hundreds of people like me all looking for their bags, just wanting this to be over with. Strangely it felt like a scene from Casablanca, where everyone was trying to get somewhere else….   I tried talking to myself to try and remain calm, but there was hysteria in the air – everyone was spooked.  The soldiers were very aggressive and were demanding to see passports and travel papers for many of those around me.  I tried to focus on getting to the front of the line and getting the hell out of there.

And just like that I was being grabbed from behind and manhandled away from the line, I tried to shake whoever was grabbing me, but to no avail – just more hands encircled me.  My mind was racing as the soldiers pulled and pushed me away from the customs hall, I remember asking what was going on, but no one spoke – just more pushing and shouts in Thai by an ever more aggressive group.  

Thai military on the streets of
Bangkok shortly after a coup

A few minutes later I was roughly pushed into a small interrogation room – no bigger than 10x10, with a small card table and two chairs.  A soldier stood inside the room, weapon at the ready eyeing me in a decidedly nasty manner.  The fear was deep in my guts now, oh shit what was going on here…..   

All I can remember of the first few hours was the heat in the room, the overhead fan circling slowly and the soldier’s eyes burning into me.  I was more than sweating, I was soaked to the skin, and more from fear than anything else but the tension was palpable.  It didn’t take long for my thirst to get the better of me, and after repeated pleas for a drink I was allowed to approach the bucket and cup in the corner of the room…...

I could hear footsteps in the hall outside the door, next minute the door burst open and a senior officer strode in and told me to sit in the chair.  

His line of questioning went something like this……..”We know you are a drug courier (calm voice).  Who are you going to meet in Thailand? (in a progressively louder and more agitated voice)”   My response was “I have no idea what you’re talking about I’m a tourist here in Thailand”.  What made him even angrier was the fact that I was being vague about my plans in Thailand and with no booked onward flight I was a clearly suspicious, but as I said earlier this trip wasn’t about firm plans.   Clearly this didn’t go down well in this particular situation.  I then asked if I could see someone from the Australian consulate, this was refused but became a common request over the ensuing hours.   He informed me that Thailand was now under a state of martial law, and that all civil laws and liberties were suspended - I was being detained by the military suspected of being a western drug courier…….basically I had no rights which he made quite clear.

After about 30 minutes of this type of questioning he got up, and walked out of the room slamming the door behind him.  To say I was shit scarred was an understatement…….what now I thought.   A new soldier was now on guard duty in my room, no happier or more willing to talk than the last.

After what felt like an eternity he came back into the room and began as if he’d never seen me before with the same questions.  I was flabbergasted – didn’t he hear me the last time I thought to myself.  He tried the good cop, bad cop routine – asking me if I’d like something to eat and drink.   When I said yes, he’d say then tell me the truth and you can have whatever you want.  I felt a wave of relief, but when I answered with the same responses he shouted that I wouldn’t be getting anything unless I answered him more truthfully.  He’d then begin his single minded track of questions again – “who I was meeting in Thailand?” Accusing me of being a drug courier was like listening to a broken record…...  

My wallet and watch had been confiscated when I was initially detained so I had lost track of time and it got a bit hazy I must admit – the light remained on the entire time I squatted against the cold wall.  The guard changed a couple of times over the next few hours but for the most part time stood completely still…..as the fan whirred slowly overhead.  Each time a new guard came in I’d ask if I could have drink from the bucket, thankfully most times they nodded yes.  

My interrogator was getting pretty fed up with my by this stage and on the next visit after another tirade of questions and no satisfactory answers he pushed his chair back placed his right hand on his service revolver and took it out and placed it on the table before me.   The next words are still etched into my mind “do you know that lots of people disappear in times like this, yours will be no different”.   I was past the point of no-return now and with tears streaming down my cheeks I begged that I didn’t know anyone in Thailand and that all I was nothing more than a tourist.   He smiled, stood and then left once again.

God, was I going to die here in Thailand I thought?   He was absolutely right, not being too close to my family back in Australia I really hadn’t told anyone about where I was going or the timing of my trip to the various countries so I was totally alone.  No-one knew where I was or where I was supposed to be, all they knew was that I was going to be in Europe at some point and that I’d contact them once I arrived, but I was far from Europe and in deep shit.   Way out of my depth and no way to get help.  

On his next visit he started down the same old path of questioning….same response from me.   He took a sheet of paper from the folder he carried with him.   His eyes reviewing the freshly typed sheet, occasionally glancing over the page at me and with military precision he flipped the paper around and pushed it in front of me.   It was typed in Thai…….   He took out his pen and placed it deliberately on the sheet in front of me and said “now you sign”.  



Thai alphabet

I’m not signing this unless you tell me what it says I said.   No response except his steely gaze into my eyes, not even a blink, his face completely void of any emotion.  

“You will sign or you don’t leave”.

My mind was racing – did I hear him correctly?   If I don’t sign it I don’t leave, what does that mean?   Again he took out his revolver and placed it on the table in front of me to see.   Fear welling up in me, oh god I thought he’s going to kill me no matter what.   So with a shaky hand I reached for the pen, my sweat and tears dropping onto the typed pages slightly blurring some of the words…….what the hell did it matter anyway.  

Time stood still - does it matter if I sign it or not - or do I die here anyway?  

To be continued.......

Bucket List - number one item if you please.....

Finally after all of my dreaming about traveling the world and the two solid years of working two jobs, in fact sometimes three jobs to save enough for me not to have to work if I so chose I was about to embark on the trip of a lifetime.  In those days I lived in Darwin – Australia’s northern most capital city situated in the picturesque Northern Territory.  For those of you in North America the equivalent of Alaska - except the opposite in terms of weather.  Darwin is closer to Jakarta in Indonesia than to any other Australian capital city, strange but true.  Given it's proximity to the equator it’s pretty hot in Darwin year round as its only 12 degrees S latitude from the equatorial marker and the equivalent of Venezuela in terms of the heat and humidity.

Casuarina Beach at Sunset

I had lived in Darwin for a number of years and was by this time quite used to the tropical heat and the two very distinct seasons – monsoon season or the dry season.  Australian’s shorten everything on earth so it was only the “wet” or the “dry”….keeps it simple and easy to remember don’t you think.   The wet was almost unbearable (especially for the first year), 100% humidity and 32C for six solid months where you do nothing by sweat, or should I say drip sweat – both day and night.    I still remember a night where it only got down to 30C overnight, clearly makes it pretty hard to sleep, even under an overhead fan.   Aaahh but the dry season was paradise – 28C days, cool sea breeze and not a cloud in the sky for six months with zero rain to speak of.  What could be more perfect!  



Electrical Storm over Darwin in the "wet"

Darwin was a young city in terms of the average age of the population when I lived there from 1983 to 1988.  You see Darwin had been ravaged by Cyclone Tracy on Christmas Eve 1974, which completely decimated the city thus forcing many long term and older residents to leave, never to return.   In less than 10 years it had regenerated and began to grow with an influx of young people to fill government jobs or in the budding tourism industry.  It was a backwater, and in some respects a great place to hide especially for those wanting to leave their past behind (not telling you which I was) and start afresh – this was the frontier town to do just that.   It certainly had the feel of the wild west.
  

In those days my life revolved around sport – wind surfing on the harbour most afternoons, Aussie rules football or rugby on the weekends – depending on what season.  Aussie rules football was played in the wet season as was Rugby Union - so you had to choose which one you wanted to play.  Not to mention Rugby League that was played in the dry (who knew there were different types of rugby...)   There was indoor cricket, field hockey……you name the sport and you could play it.   Those were also the days when much younger and fitter I could keep up and be rather competitive in any sport I wanted to play, which I did almost every night of the week in one form or another.  J

TW playing Aussie Rules football

Of course your social life also revolved around the sports you played with your mates.  Work was a something that you did between having fun – which I guess in many ways, is still the way Australians like to think and play!    I can hear you all asking “then why on earth did you move to Canada”…..yes, yes I’m getting to that albeit a little circuitously.    Strangely as I write this, I’m feeling just a tad homesick so if you see tear drops on the blog it’s just me sobbing……



I’m sure you’re all now pretty curious as to what I actually did when I lived in Darwin, nope I wasn’t a consultant.   Nor was I a banker, no software was not part of my lexicon in those days. …..give up???    Okay, my actual degree is in Education – drum roll please, yes I was a high school teacher - Physical Education and Health Science if you please.   My second job was somewhat related in that I also lectured at the University of the Northern Territory in Curriculum development (part time), as well I also moonlighted as a bartender at a local seafood restaurant (Neptune’s Doorway)in town.  Full days and full nights, but teaching had its benefits as school started at 7:30 am and ended at 2:30 pm in an attempt to beat the heat……it didn’t work, but fortunately I was able to be at the beach on my windsurfer by 2:45 pm most afternoons.  Yes, school was that close to the beach!



Birds Eye Chilli's for sale at the Parap street market on a 
Saturday morning - Darwin, Australia


The great thing about Darwin was the social aspect of almost everything you did, with plenty of BBQ’s, pub nights, street markets and of course the Mindil Beach Casino all within a stone’s throw of the city.   I had always dreamed of traveling the world ever since I was a small child.  I was a voracious reader (still am), and so loved stories of high adventure in far flung corners of the world, no matter what story it was or how exotic the locale it always piqued my interest….   This was my number one thing on my bucket list – “travel the world and don’t come back until you’re satisfied and seen it all!”   

It was rather strange – one day I just had the urge to quit my job……it happened rather suddenly really, there I was minding my own business driving to school one morning and a powerful impulse came over me to get off my bum and do what I’d always wanted to do.   So with that impetus and two years worth of savings in my bank account I quit my job(s), sold all of my possessions (car, furniture etc….) and brought a backpack and a one way ticket around the world.   Man you should have seen the look on the principal face the day I walked in and handed him my resignation – priceless!  

Now, if you’ve seen the movie Hangover, you’ll appreciate the send off my mates provided me (less the Rufies) as I departed - initially for Asia and then all points west late that afternoon in early 1985.   I had the world at my feet, no timetable or agenda to work against – just me and my whims for the next year, (if the cash held out that long!) I was on my way to the adventure of a lifetime and a date with destiny!

Stay tuned for next weeks installment……turbulent times ahead.

Israeli Interlude

Who would have thought that I’d get the reaction that I did to my initial blog Kokoda?  With over 3500 people reading my blog over the course of the two months it was quite surprising really.  I’ve had such an overwhelming number of you write and email encouraging me to keep writing so I’ve decided to continue with my blog, albeit shift gears a little and share with you some of my other adventures, so with your indulgence here goes.   Enjoy! 

Zach at the foot of Masada - yep, we climbed it!

I just got back from Israel earlier today….   Interesting place to go for Christmas and New Year I hear you thinking to yourself – why Israel?   Well my son Zach is turning 13 and its Bar Mitzvah time for him, that coming of age milestone in the Jewish faith that tends to be a defining moment, so we decided on a low key affair – just immediate family to celebrate it in Israel, not just anywhere in Israel but at the top of Masada, so much more meaningful don’t you think?   Jodie had been to Israel with her parents about 15 years ago, but as for me and the kids this was to be our first visit. So with expectations high and a sense of adventure in the air we set out on Christmas day…..strange coincidence don’t you think.

The full on Israel experience starts from the moment you get in the line at the airport to pre-check in (yes, still in your own country and not quite in the actual check in line at this point).  The El Al agent is extremely sweet, but with a series of questions that ends up feeling more like an interrogation that a check in, or should I say “pre-check in” cos we’re still nowhere near the actual check in counter just yet.  

Ours went a little like this – May I see you boarding passes and passports….  Welcome Mr. & Mrs. Wallis.  What is the purpose of your visit to Israel?   (We’re going to Israel for our son’s Bar Mitzvah), wonderful – what congregation to you belong?  (Oh, we don’t belong to a congregation)   Perhaps you attend a synagogue on the high holidays?  (No, not really)   Well, which Hebrew school do your children attend?  (Oh our children don’t attend Hebrew school), Well, then who taught your son in preparation for the Bar Mitzvah?  (I did says my wife - Jodie)    If you’re not part of a congregation, and your children don’t go to Hebrew school how did you know what to teach him?  (I’m Jewish my wife says)    Forty questions later, and a rather exasperated pre-check in complete we were now permitted to go to the actual check in.   Now would be an appropriate time to use one of my favorite sayings – Oi vay mate!

It was particularly interesting for the non-religious Terence I can tell you; just to be in a country that is so united yet so divided within, to be so religious and yet not so all at the same time - full of contrasts and contradictions like nowhere I’ve ever been before.   Israel reminds me of a warrior like chameleon (if there’s such a thing?) - Ready to take you out one minute with the attitude of an angry pit-bull, the next, a hyper sensitive “little old lady from Pasadena” (to borrow a line from the 1964 hit by Jan and Dean).   Confusing to say the least!    

Now don’t get me wrong, Israel of all countries needs to be vigilant and have tight security which they do in spades but it’s the contrasts and extremes that made me curious.



Zach with Israeli soldiers in the Old City of Jerusalem

This was no more evident that when I was walking in the markets, there is the constant cacophony of sounds, smells and sights I wasn’t used to living in North America.  However the most confronting image is the ever present and vigilant soldiers that you see in groups of two or three with loaded Negev assault weapons slung across their chests – day or night, no matter where you were they were there too, even at the Western (Wailing) Wall.  In one sense it gave you piece of mind that there was security where ever you went, but it also contrasted the danger of living in this part of the world and more than a little difficult to adjust to.  Metal detectors became the norm, including going into shops to browse – emptying your pockets, bag searches…. 

On one occasion my son Zach and I had a few minutes to kill (figuratively speaking) after spending some time in a museum we decided to go back in to look at one more display that had caught his attention.   Not so fast mister – the soldier on the door wanted to see my passport (which I wasn’t carrying), eyeing me suspiciously he asked for photo ID (which I did have thankfully) he took it and after a somewhat heated discussion in Hebrew with his commander in an adjacent office (I learned that this was just their normal communication style not anger per see).  At the same time four soldiers moved closer to us and formed a semi circle around us, hands on weapons, eyes fixed on the two of us – there Zach and I stood feeling smaller by the moment…..and after a minute or so we were allowed to re-enter, albeit rather reluctantly.



Zach & TW planting trees in Israel

Another day we were headed out to plant trees to commemorate Zach’s coming of age at a newly forested area about 30 minutes outside Jerusalem, as the bus drove along the road villages were strung out on every hilltop, some surrounded by barbed wire, others not so.  I asked our tour guide about it and she explained that the towns with barbed wire were Arab villages in the West Bank and that the only way in or out was via checkpoint, a demilitarized zone and then another checkpoint and for those that worked outside the village they couldn’t drive out directly.  They could take a bus, or taxi to and from the checkpoints but had to walk across the demilitarized zone on foot – could this be anymore different than we’re used to?

Each morning I’d read the Jerusalem Post just get a feel for the city, and each morning I was astounded to read about the local infighting within the local communities.  In particular the one that caught my eye was the recent problem in the community of Beit Shemesh, you could feel the religious tension between the various Jewish secular groups griping the city.  Strange isn’t it that in a country so uniformly set against the world that surrounds it, within there is such deep divisions.  Perhaps that just the way Jerusalem is – ancient ground with ancient conflict in its bones.  



Tel Aviv's trendy inner city with its Bauhaus architecture



Drive about an hour and half (traffic is a bear!) west to the city of Tel Aviv and you’ll quickly realize that you’ve been transported to a totally different country.  Tel Aviv is the ubiquitous home of the west with its high rise condos, beaches, swank shopping districts and its ultra nouveau nightlife. In fact, Tel Aviv could easily be thought of as the Los Angeles of the Middle East, with its bustling cosmopolitan feel and the surf culture lapping at its fringe – such a small country with so many differences, similarities and eccentricities it was hard to come to grips with in just 12 days.

I guess I’ll just have to go back…..