'I encountered the ghost of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara in Bangkok'
I encountered the ghost of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara in Bangkok.
Too much Chang beer you say, or in my case too much BeerLao?
October 8th, the sky was cloudy and a thunderstorm threatened. I sat outside the Siam Paragon, bathed in the bright lights of three large TV screens, reflecting the kaleidoscopic glow from glass walls and consumerism.
Wearing my olive green revolutionary shirt I felt overwhelmed by it all. Pretty Thai girls trotted past, material girls in a material world, sang Madonna. A flash of bolt lightning lit up the heavens, the air was electric, as are the BTS trains that flashed by with their approaching monster’s headlights.
I had an uneasy sensation of a presence, a force stronger and brighter than the neon around me.
“Velasquez, Private Velasquez, cómo estás?”
“What the ?”
The apparition of a large bearded man in military uniform and beret stood next to me, puffing on a huge cigar as he looked down and smiled.
“Comandante Guevara?” He nodded back with another grin.A well dressed Thai girl sitting next to me edged slowly away, convinced she was sitting next to yet another ‘Ting-tong’ farang. “Farang baa!” she mouthed to her friend who rolled her eyes.
I had an uneasy sensation of a presence, a force stronger and brighter than the neon around me.
“Velasquez, Private Velasquez, cómo estás?”
“What the ?”
The apparition of a large bearded man in military uniform and beret stood next to me, puffing on a huge cigar as he looked down and smiled.
“Comandante Guevara?” He nodded back with another grin.A well dressed Thai girl sitting next to me edged slowly away, convinced she was sitting next to yet another ‘Ting-tong’ farang. “Farang baa!” she mouthed to her friend who rolled her eyes.
“Come, mi amigo, let us get away from these children. It is forty years since they took my life away and I would like to have a look at the modern World.”
I walked towards the entrance to Siam Paragon apparently talking to myself, a loony farang on too much cheap booze.
“Ay Chihuahua!” Comandante ‘Che’ could not believe the inside of the building. Fascinated he walked towards a whole floor dedicated as a gymnasium with every keep fit machine occupied, all to the rhythm of funky music. Guevara took off that famous beret and scratched the back of his head.
“Exercise is good for the body and soul, the machines and the people look as one, they resemble robots, no ? Do they exercise their minds, do they talk about their society and country, have they culture? I think not! Not an independent thought or revolutionary idea in their subservient heads.”
With an occasional farang, the Thai keep-fit fiends, pounded running machines and cycles, all to make sure that they stay part of the beautiful people culture.We moved on, ‘Che’ and I, a crazy farang walking on brightly polished floors, talking to himself. Guevara saw all the designer shirts and jackets with his famous pose as a centre-piece.
“Do they know who I am? What I stood for, what my struggle was? The people who buy these things probably think that I am a pop-star from the 1960’s, perhaps in a way I was.” Comandante Guevara became thoughtful.
“Maybe if they take the time to study my writings and what I have done, my picture on their shirts my be no bad thing?”
“Che, I doubt whether they would even make the effort, they want to look beautiful, want to get a slim or muscled body. Read something ? You have to be joking my old companeiro, look at that shop assistant over there reading a comic, the same that we read when we were young. That is the limit of their interest.” Guevara shook his head in disappointment.
“This is a palace, an altar to consumerism and an 'I want, I need society'.. What are these little oblong boxes they hold to their ears, a radio telephone would have an aerial no?”
“Che, they are mobile phones, everybody has them, all part of our so-called modern World.”
“Ay, such technology, pity I did not have one in 1959.” The Ghost of Guevara turned a little green in colour. “Now we look outside.”
Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara turned for a last look at the ‘Alladin’s Cave’ of goods and the ‘keep-fit’ brigade wanting to maintain a beautiful body.
“Velasquez, this is obey, conform, consume, but does anybody think, think for themselves ? I doubt it”
“Che, I shall now show you somewhere that might remind you of Havana under Batista?”
“I hope not my little friend!”
On the way to the Skytrain we passed a child begging with a plastic cup, surrounded by sleeping puppy-dogs. Guevara shook his head in disgust.
“This is something I always tried to stop, but here it is worse because it sits next to such modern wealth, it is an obscenity! What sort of politicians do they have here?”
“They had one alleged corrupt man who ran the country but was also good in business, he was the only one to try and do something for the poor. He upset some other rich ones, the so-called Bangkok Fathers, so they got rid of him. Now the country is run by clueless old men.”
“They are ALL corrupt!” Che puffed on his cigar in anger.The BTS train flashed into the station, Che stood on the very edge of the platform. The security guard did not blow his whistle as he saw nobody, but his nose twitched at the smell of strong cigar smoke.I boarded the train and the doors shut, Che walked through the closed doors as if they were not there, just to emphasise his ghostly demean.
“Nana? Modern hotels, street traders and a traffic jam. What is so special about this part of the modern World mi amigo?”
I turned into the entrance of Soi 4 where I was accosted by two ladyboys, “yoo welcum, I can do everything for you!”
Guevara swiftly booted both up the arse. The kathoeys turned to hit who had done the deed but there was nobody there. They then set off around the corner in great haste, screaming and cackling like old hens. The Ghost of Che Guevara laughed.A child pulled on my sleeve trying to sell me flowers.
“Do they not have an education here?” An angry Guevara shook his head again.
“Well it’s like this Che, the ruling glass don’t want an educated poor, they want to keep them down for a supply of cheap labour for the Multinational Corporations who make all those goods in the Siam Paragon.”
“Bastard gringos ! Bastard Yankees! This country needs Che!” Guevara watched in amusement as various staff tried to entice me into a dancing bar inside the Nana Entertainment Complex. I decided to enter with Che following puffing energetically on his Cohiba Cigar.I ordered a beer and began to watch the half-naked girls dance, hoping to find another customer. The music was dreadful. Some of the girls began to look around for the culprit who was making them gag with cigar smoke, yet they found nobody to accuse. Che glared at some fat farangs ogling the girls.
“Just like Havana before the Revolution! America’s whorehouse! I bet some of the younger customers have been killing in Iraq? At least they are now getting a bloody nose, the fools! The daughters of Siam are turned into prostitutes, the daughters of Havana were turned into whores, we changed that, time for the same here !”
I walked towards the entrance to Siam Paragon apparently talking to myself, a loony farang on too much cheap booze.
“Ay Chihuahua!” Comandante ‘Che’ could not believe the inside of the building. Fascinated he walked towards a whole floor dedicated as a gymnasium with every keep fit machine occupied, all to the rhythm of funky music. Guevara took off that famous beret and scratched the back of his head.
“Exercise is good for the body and soul, the machines and the people look as one, they resemble robots, no ? Do they exercise their minds, do they talk about their society and country, have they culture? I think not! Not an independent thought or revolutionary idea in their subservient heads.”
With an occasional farang, the Thai keep-fit fiends, pounded running machines and cycles, all to make sure that they stay part of the beautiful people culture.We moved on, ‘Che’ and I, a crazy farang walking on brightly polished floors, talking to himself. Guevara saw all the designer shirts and jackets with his famous pose as a centre-piece.
“Do they know who I am? What I stood for, what my struggle was? The people who buy these things probably think that I am a pop-star from the 1960’s, perhaps in a way I was.” Comandante Guevara became thoughtful.
“Maybe if they take the time to study my writings and what I have done, my picture on their shirts my be no bad thing?”
“Che, I doubt whether they would even make the effort, they want to look beautiful, want to get a slim or muscled body. Read something ? You have to be joking my old companeiro, look at that shop assistant over there reading a comic, the same that we read when we were young. That is the limit of their interest.” Guevara shook his head in disappointment.
“This is a palace, an altar to consumerism and an 'I want, I need society'.. What are these little oblong boxes they hold to their ears, a radio telephone would have an aerial no?”
“Che, they are mobile phones, everybody has them, all part of our so-called modern World.”
“Ay, such technology, pity I did not have one in 1959.” The Ghost of Guevara turned a little green in colour. “Now we look outside.”
Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara turned for a last look at the ‘Alladin’s Cave’ of goods and the ‘keep-fit’ brigade wanting to maintain a beautiful body.
“Velasquez, this is obey, conform, consume, but does anybody think, think for themselves ? I doubt it”
“Che, I shall now show you somewhere that might remind you of Havana under Batista?”
“I hope not my little friend!”
On the way to the Skytrain we passed a child begging with a plastic cup, surrounded by sleeping puppy-dogs. Guevara shook his head in disgust.
“This is something I always tried to stop, but here it is worse because it sits next to such modern wealth, it is an obscenity! What sort of politicians do they have here?”
“They had one alleged corrupt man who ran the country but was also good in business, he was the only one to try and do something for the poor. He upset some other rich ones, the so-called Bangkok Fathers, so they got rid of him. Now the country is run by clueless old men.”
“They are ALL corrupt!” Che puffed on his cigar in anger.The BTS train flashed into the station, Che stood on the very edge of the platform. The security guard did not blow his whistle as he saw nobody, but his nose twitched at the smell of strong cigar smoke.I boarded the train and the doors shut, Che walked through the closed doors as if they were not there, just to emphasise his ghostly demean.
“Nana? Modern hotels, street traders and a traffic jam. What is so special about this part of the modern World mi amigo?”
I turned into the entrance of Soi 4 where I was accosted by two ladyboys, “yoo welcum, I can do everything for you!”
Guevara swiftly booted both up the arse. The kathoeys turned to hit who had done the deed but there was nobody there. They then set off around the corner in great haste, screaming and cackling like old hens. The Ghost of Che Guevara laughed.A child pulled on my sleeve trying to sell me flowers.
“Do they not have an education here?” An angry Guevara shook his head again.
“Well it’s like this Che, the ruling glass don’t want an educated poor, they want to keep them down for a supply of cheap labour for the Multinational Corporations who make all those goods in the Siam Paragon.”
“Bastard gringos ! Bastard Yankees! This country needs Che!” Guevara watched in amusement as various staff tried to entice me into a dancing bar inside the Nana Entertainment Complex. I decided to enter with Che following puffing energetically on his Cohiba Cigar.I ordered a beer and began to watch the half-naked girls dance, hoping to find another customer. The music was dreadful. Some of the girls began to look around for the culprit who was making them gag with cigar smoke, yet they found nobody to accuse. Che glared at some fat farangs ogling the girls.
“Just like Havana before the Revolution! America’s whorehouse! I bet some of the younger customers have been killing in Iraq? At least they are now getting a bloody nose, the fools! The daughters of Siam are turned into prostitutes, the daughters of Havana were turned into whores, we changed that, time for the same here !”
“Che, eighty per cent of the prostitution is for Thais, not westerners. Some say it has been part of the culture for years?”
“Does that make it any better? Taking poor girls from the fields and then they sell their bodies, probably sending the money back to the families, am I right, or no?”
“Exactly correct, poor education, no alternative, no money unless they sell their bodies. I have tried the bar scene and now feel ashamed.”
“Well at least now you know, you have experienced, seen and felt what these women go through because they have not been given a chance in life through a decent education. In Cuba under Batista the literacy rate in the countryside was 20%, now it is 90%+ . Cuba has the best health care service in the whole of Latin America, even with the trading restrictions put on by the Yankees. We also have music, rum and the best cigars. We still have a problem with prostitutes but that has been with us since the time of the first Pharaohs. At least we are no longer America’s Whorehouse! This place still is, time for Che Guevara !”
We left the Nana bars and I made my way back to my hotel, dodging child beggars and farangs with their Thai girls. One sixty year old man had a pretty girl that looked only sixteen. Two drunken western men lurched past me leering at everything in site. Che just grunted and growled disapproval.The rain stated yet again as we passed a newly opened Irish bar and restaurant. Four obviously wealthy western men in shorts and blazing lust in their eyes strolled out of the Irish pub. They chuckled and leered at a pretty Thai girl trying to put up an umbrella. I had had enough, so had Che.
“Exactly correct, poor education, no alternative, no money unless they sell their bodies. I have tried the bar scene and now feel ashamed.”
“Well at least now you know, you have experienced, seen and felt what these women go through because they have not been given a chance in life through a decent education. In Cuba under Batista the literacy rate in the countryside was 20%, now it is 90%+ . Cuba has the best health care service in the whole of Latin America, even with the trading restrictions put on by the Yankees. We also have music, rum and the best cigars. We still have a problem with prostitutes but that has been with us since the time of the first Pharaohs. At least we are no longer America’s Whorehouse! This place still is, time for Che Guevara !”
We left the Nana bars and I made my way back to my hotel, dodging child beggars and farangs with their Thai girls. One sixty year old man had a pretty girl that looked only sixteen. Two drunken western men lurched past me leering at everything in site. Che just grunted and growled disapproval.The rain stated yet again as we passed a newly opened Irish bar and restaurant. Four obviously wealthy western men in shorts and blazing lust in their eyes strolled out of the Irish pub. They chuckled and leered at a pretty Thai girl trying to put up an umbrella. I had had enough, so had Che.
“Do you know that my full name is Ernesto de La Serna Guevara Lynch ? I have Irish blood, but a ghost cannot drink Guinness? Well I don’t think so anyway. Ok my little friend it is now time for me to return to the other side.”
With that Che Guevara faded away leaving behind a strong smell of cigar smoke. I was sure I could here a crowd chanting, “Viva, viva, viva La Revolución!”
The wealthy looking farangs in shorts, started laughing at the little man talking to himself.
With that Che Guevara faded away leaving behind a strong smell of cigar smoke. I was sure I could here a crowd chanting, “Viva, viva, viva La Revolución!”
The wealthy looking farangs in shorts, started laughing at the little man talking to himself.
“So, what do I see now, huh?
In the year …..2003.
I see Ernesto, kind of
evolving into “Che”.
His farewell to the lepers
seemed to say: ”I am leaving
this common medicine…..
to become a doctor of souls,
of the People.”-ALBERTO GRANADO, 2003
-friend and companion of Che Guevara
In the year …..2003.
I see Ernesto, kind of
evolving into “Che”.
His farewell to the lepers
seemed to say: ”I am leaving
this common medicine…..
to become a doctor of souls,
of the People.”-ALBERTO GRANADO, 2003
-friend and companion of Che Guevara
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