Those who assume this book is a guide to the euphoria and thrill of tourism will not find what they are looking for here. From the outset, the writings in this compilation were never intended to serve as a travel guide for tourists.
Inside, there are no tips on how to visit the countries featured in this book cheaply and easily, let alone advice for sightseeing in cities or visiting attractive landmarks merely for photo opportunities. There are no travel routes, no airfare prices, no bus or train fares, no restaurant addresses. All of those details are deliberately omitted. With Google, you can easily find such information yourself. I will not waste my energy on something so futile. Nor are there captivating photographs to illustrate each story. Aside from not owning a camera, I am a terrible draftsman by every possible measure.
The writings in this book—in my subjective view—are the most fitting medium to describe the richness and tangled vitality of the political movements I encountered and gathered before they became a modest body of knowledge for myself.
These pieces are also greatly indebted to numerous references. Most of the supporting literature that forms the backbone of each note was read almost accidentally — forced upon me while fulfilling academic obligations and working as a precarious labourer in a research institution. A number of other books were recommendations and gestures of generosity from kind and brilliant people I had the fortune to know.
Even so, I dare to call this book a compilation of journeys I once undertook.
The stories contained here are fragments left behind from a life of wandering as an outsider, or memories of brief visits to Indochina between 2013 and 2017. During that period, I lived for some time in Thailand and Vietnam.
In Thailand, I spent most of my time in the northeastern region known as Isaan. Travelling around and living in several places made Isaan have a permanent and special place in my heart.
In Vietnam, I settled in Hue, located in the central part of the country. At one point, I even dreamed of spending my old age in that city — though that plan ultimately failed spectacularly. In both countries, I was fortunate to find opportunities to make a living as a low-ranking precariat in research institutions. The research projects I worked on became my gateway to regularly visiting many places in Indochina and deepening my understanding beyond that of an ordinary traveller.
If Myanmar was visited only a handful of times for research purposes, Laos, by contrast, was a country I frequented. Apart from work-related reasons, Laos was simply an appealing destination for holidays: affordable and rich in history.
Those years were also a period in which I began to understand, albeit modestly, the past of Indochina — in particular how this region became intertwined with the history of a movement inspired by the ideas of a German revolutionary named Karl Marx. I tried to grasp how communism moved and what the face of this ideology looked like within social movements grounded in Marxism. I attempted to view it from the perspective of a foreigner whose own country lies not far to the south — where Marxism remains taboo and is regarded as a danger that threatens human consciousness, lest it discover the critical capacity to fight for its own freedom.
The effort to open oneself up and move beyond the confines of tourist brochures would never have succeeded without the help of others. They were friends who extended warm hands, pointed me toward stimulating readings, recounted submerged stories, accompanied me on adventure after adventure in foreign lands, and shared long nights over bottles of beer.
It is to these kind and remarkable people that this book is dedicated; as a reminder that hospitality and conversations about tragedy and hope are far more meaningful when we are honest about history.
To Lambai Souvanlorpaying in Luang Prabang. To Khan Huyen, Thi Hien, Anh Dan, Manh Hung, Anh Tuan in Hue; Dong Vinh and Anh Han in Hanoi. To Hei Win and Dolly Shein in Sittwe. To Ma Khant and Honey Oo in Yangon. To Jibjoi and Gift in Mahasarakham. To Paktu and Mew in Nakhon Phanom. To Beng in Mukdahan. And of course to Bun Thearith, San Savuth, Boo Kyunghwan, Joseph Martin, Alex de Jong, and Kim Hyun Kyoung. These are the people who supplied and recommended the essential readings that became the primary backbone of this collection. Thank you will never be enough to repay the kindness I received from them.
My deep gratitude must also be extended to those who taught and convinced me to write: (RIP) Adriaan Lapian, Alex Ulaen, and Andreas Harsono. These three figures played a crucial role in my development as a person who chose writing as a way of life.
To those people I mentioned above, for every cup of coffee and tea they made, for every smile, embrace, advice, insight, and even anger they offered. The kindness and love they once gave made the entire process of composing the stories in this book meaningful and worthwhile. Thank you. They are the main reason this book was finally completed.
Karatung, Desember 2018
Andre Barahamin
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