George: A Profile

Over this trip we've had some capers, encountered some genuine grizzled men of the road and soft handed posers, friendly locals and anti-tourist agitators, minor criminals and legitimate convicts. Today I'd like to tell you about a man, nay, more than a man, a hero - a hero who strolled right into our lives in a haze of contraband and wise advice then strolled right back out again. His name was George.

There we were, sitting quietly indulging in a simple meal of rice and anonymous meat when this towering inferno of charisma flung himself around from his own table to engage us mere mortals. No introductions, no arbitrary pleasantries, just a simple offer of drugs and alcohol from a man many years our senior. We were intrigued. After engaging him in staggered conversation for some time we established that the man went by George and was, ah of course, from the Netherlands.

Like all the best abstract encounters, at first it all seemed quite innocuous - with the exception of his disregard for international law and what you can and cant partake in at a small street side food merchant. He passed onto us his many years of wisdom in the form of what drugs were/were not acceptable in his crazy mind. I did not see the warning signs, when Charlie removed himself from the situation and I was left alone. Sure enough the setting soon transformed itself from a picnic table to a psychiatrist's couch as George without warning unveiled his sordid history to me in full, and near enough in real-time. 

As it turns out George was convicted a felon for some Class A related trouble and spent what sounded like far too much time in prison. He had, as it turns out, fallen into what he described to me as a black hole; from which many of his close friends had failed to return. See how your mood just got dampened when you read that unexpected sadness? Imagine how I felt at the fucking time. It was a tight spot, as George stared directly into my soul, his bloodshot eyes mixing with tears. This, I thought, has gone entirely too far. When suddenly, like a pheonix bursting into flames and re-emerging anew George shook his head ruefully and burst out laughing. More booze! And the atmosphere of the whole place switched back from Narcotics Anonymous meeting to Munich Beer Hall in a tasty minute. 

Beyond his incredible ability to dictate the mood of an evening, George inspired me in his ability to find the level of good humour required to wave a mug of beer around and slap a knee despite the demons of his past. That and the fact that in a good two hours of sitting on a main road in a capital city at no point did he stop doing at least one illegal activity. Learn from him, praise him, carry his legend in your heart. 

Peace

Joe