Oh how gleefully I sneer at the fat American tourist. Sitting there smug in the authenticity of my own experience. Scoffing. I suck noodles and sip beer from a blue plastic tumbler like Vasco da Gama. Triumphantly European. The audacity, to presume that my journey is somehow superior to his.
After, I like him. I'm humbled. By his dignity which defys the discomfort of his posture. A wedding band and neat wrist watch clamped over his knee like Queen Victoria. No maurauding colonialist ferried here through the back streets of George Town. From Farquhur up Love Lane past godowns and the noblese of Straits Chinese. His features defensive, flushed and not sure. But giving it a go all the same.