Phuket Town.

"If we live long enough, we become caricatures of ourselves." - John Irving, Last Night in Twisted River

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"Oh, I hope we're not staying in a dump tonight!" The girl was a bit larger, with a strong Russian accent. She had heaved herself onto the bus as her pint-sized boyfriend cheerfully loaded three mammoth suitcases and one Gucci handbag onto the back of the van. Everyone else's luggage had to be removed and relocated before it would fit.

"Oh me too! I haven't been here in thirty years and I cannot remember the name of the place we stayed in last time, but it was so lovely," chimed in the Australian woman with tight, gray curls sitting beside the Russian. Her husband patted her lap reassuringly - a gesture she ignored. The small Russian boyfriend twisted his body around from the front seat and began speaking English with noticeable effort. "Yes," he agreed, the words sticking to his throat, jiggling his Adam's apple before emerging,  "but you are still alive and still travel, so it's good!" Clearly pleased with himself, he faced forward once again and collapsed into his seat.

The Australian woman stared at him uncertainly for a moment before turned back towards the Russian girl. "Where were you before?" she asked.

"Oh, in China. We don't like, though. Everything is so cold there! Here everything is so warm and friendly!" It was one o'clock in the morning, and other than the the young prostitutes draped on older falang, Phuket Town was dead.

"Yes, yes Thailand is wonderful," the older woman agreed. "So tonight is your first night here?" The Russian couple nodded in unison, the boyfriend with a large smile still plastered to his lower jaw.

"Well then, tomorrow you simply must try the Phat Thai!" cried the Australian husband. His bald head glittered beneath the street lights. "Oh yes," his wife agreed, "it is simply magnifique!" The Russians looked a bit dubious. "What is that?" asked he. "What's inside?" asked she.

They pulled into the Australian couple's hotel, past a smartly-dressed security guard who peered inside the van nervously before allowing them through. The men in the lobby rushed out in mock-native outfits to carry in the duo's baggage. The Russians were left in the van with a non-English speaking Thai driver as they drove away past another security guard; both silently wishing they'd booked a room at this place. The city suddenly looked sinister and, well, dark, and the boyfriend sat up straight, looking soberly in front of him out into the night.

"I hope we are not in a dump," she whispered; a quiet plea to the strangeness outside.