Documents. Various documents. Stories. Poems. Prose. How-To's.
How-Not-To's. Technical. Reference. Hacking. Phreaking. Home-Made-Whatever's.
You-Name-It. Men In Black Suits. Silent Helicopters. Satellite Surveillance.
Fear and Loathing.
The documents in here were written by Kim (http://www.carsena-tech.net).
Couple years back, Kim used to write a monthly article for a US West
Coast based E-Zine called "Generator 21" (http://www.g21.net)
Please note that these documents are subject to international
copyright agreements and laws. The copyright is with the author.
Please obtain permission from author before reproducing any of these
FOR YOUR AMAZING READING PLEASURE
Joaquin the Spaniard and I sat at the bar talking late in the afternoon. As usual,
Nathon Town on Koh Samui island in Thailand was stinking hot. Running the fans onto
yourself just made the salt crystallize on your skin like grains of white sand. The
occasional breeze coming off the sea nearby brought coolness but also set up little
whirlwinds of dust in the street which settled on the tables and the bar. Mai pen lai.
Better to let the perspiration run and learn to live with it, or just go and sit in the
air-conditioned bank on the corner. But you could not drink in there and drinking is what
Joaquin and I were doing on this particular day. We had decided that we were quite lucky
to be alive and well on the island, so we were celebrating.
Joaquin had finished his days work re-wiring the lights for a small resort. My days
work never really finished; I ran the bar when I was on the island. Other times I spent up
in Bangkok working with computers. Joaquin had a bar and restaurant also, but he was not
opening until the high tourist season. Right now was "dead season".
Above the bar, amongst the weird mixture of American Indian, Thai Antique and Harley
Davidson paraphernalia was a poster. On the poster were 9 pictures of natives with crazy
hair styles. Joaquin looked up at the poster. "I been mean to ask you, what are these
people up here" he said as he pointed his Singha Beer bottle at the poster.
"Those are the nine great chiefs of Fiji, the one in the middle is the guy who
gave Fiji to the British to stop the cannibal wars." I said. "The what?"
asked Joaquin. "The cannibal wars" I repeated. "At the end of the last
century, the whole of the island nation of Fiji was at war". "The country was
split up into several main regions and tribes and they were all fighting for control of
the country." I told Joaquin.
"Go on, tell me about that, for this thing I am very interested to know" said
Joaquin. I went on; "The sale of sandalwood and beech demer to the French and
British traders had allowed the tribes to purchase firearms from the black marketeers. Of
course, once armed with these weapons the wars became very bad, very bloody".
"The Fijians were cannibals - they usually killed all the warriors in the loosing
tribe in a war and then ate some of the flesh. That one Chief in the middle, King Cakobau,
went to Britain and asked the British to take over the government of the country and save
I looked up at the wall to the poster there. The crazy hair styles looked like
something out of a London punk neighborhood, standing up on end, big wedges of hair, cut
in stripes and stars, all weird. My mind began to drift back to my days in Fiji working
with these people.
"You know Joaquin" I said to the Spaniard, "once I was up in Vanua Levu,
the second largest island in the group". I paused to take a sip on my beer and looked
up again at the poster. "I was invited to a big ceremony up in a village in the
mountains. My Fijian friends had told me that no foreigners had been up to this village
for over ten years, so theyd make a special welcome for me".
"One of the sons of the chief of the village had come of age and the
ceremony was about various initiations he had to go through over a period of days". I
began to relate my visit to the village to Joaquin.
"We walked for a whole day to get up there, I was so tired when we arrived. The
people of the village came out and made a great fuss about the arrival of this white man
in their midst."
"The chief and his wife greeted us and my friends and I were invited to sit with
he and his family in his bure (a Fijian style house). Once seated the
inevitable drinks of yaqona were served. This drink is made from the roots of a plant of
the pepper family and contains a small amount of sedating and intoxicating drug. The drink
is common by the day in Fiji. As we drank several of the boys sitting around
began to clap their hands and sing a local song. The rhythm of the singing worked together
with the yaqona drink and in not too much time I was clapping and singing along,
thoroughly intoxicated and enjoying every minute".
"Six women walked in wearing grass skirts and tapa top covers. Tapa is
a kind of cloth made from the bark of the paperbark tree. They began to dance, swaying
their massive hips and breasts in time with the singing and clapping. I became completely
mesmerized, I was transported to another time. A time in which the victor ate the flesh of
"Food was brought. The dancing continued. The night went on and eventually beer
and whisky were brought out. We moved out of the bure and all sat around a large fire they
had set up in the middle of the village compound. In the distance I could hear screams. It
was the boy being initiated. I asked what they were doing to him but nobody cared to tell
me other than to let me know never mind, it hurts very much. More plates and
bowls with food were brought and the chief indicated to me to come over and sit by
"I obeyed his request and sat by him. An old man with a dry and heavily wrinkled
face and eyes that appeared to glow with some ancient knowledge and power. A young man
came up to the chief bowing very low and holding a large ceramic jar in his hands. He
passed the jar to the chief while keeping his head down and below the level of the
chiefs head. The jar looked very old and had a cork stopper in the top".
"In good English the chief said to me here I have something interesting for
you to try. It is meat of the special pig and is pickled. He took the top of the jar
and indicated for me to take a sniff of the contents. I did so and found the smell to be
quite pleasant - acrid but pleasant. The chief went on. This jar was prepared by my
great grandfather over 100 years ago. What? He made the jar 100 years
ago? I asked. No said the chief he prepared the meat 100 years
ago. He passed it on to my grandfather who in turn passed it on to my father. Such is how
it came to me. It is special meat we only use during the ceremony of the coming of age of
my sons so that they may take my place after my time is done ".
"He reached into the jar with a sharp piece of bamboo and skewered out a small
lump of black meat. He placed this in his mouth and chewing said mmmm, thats
good, mmmm. He then skewered another piece of the meat and passed the stick to me.
Without hesitation, myself somewhat adventurous at times, I placed the meat in my mouth
and began chewing. Sure enough, it did taste good. Very good. Spicy and piquant with a
strong taste of vinegar mixed with alcohol and chili peppers".
"He took another piece himself, skewered another for me and closed the jar. We sat
chewing the meat, it was a little tough but it was certainly tasty. The singing had
stopped now and it was quite late. The fire had burned down and the embers glowed in the
dark. The smell of the smoke and food mixed with the odor of the yaqona, beer, whisky and
pickled meat to create a strange but pleasant atmosphere as the night wore on".
"We sat swapping stories until the wee hours then I was guided by two girls to a
bure they had prepared for my nights sleep. The night was warm with a gentle breeze
blowing. The woven grass mat was padded with coconut husks and was quite comfortable. They
had placed a jar of water next to the bed and a mosquito net hang from an overhead beam.
One of the girls motioned that shed like to lay with me but I indicated that I was
too drunk to do anything but she was welcome to simply lay. She looked very
disappointed and said never mind and left me to my sleeping".
"In the morning we woke early for the walk back down the mountain to the township.
Breakfast of fruit and fish was prepared and served, the chief nowhere in sight. My
friends and I ate and then packed our things for the long trek ahead. We left the village
amidst clapping hands and requests that we return soon. We felt very well and fit
regardless of the nights drinking and festivities".
"After several kilometers of walking, Bosoka, one of my friends said
howd you find the long pig last night?. The what? I said.
The long pig that the chief shared with you from that old jar, howd you like
it?. It was fine I said. A bit chewy and tough but it tasted
" What is long pig? I asked Bosoka. Oh thats what they
used to call the flesh of the white man years ago. Oh I see I said.
So you just refer to this special pickled pork as long pig as a joke, I see
" Oh no said Bosoka. That was human flesh you ate last night,
real human flesh. My stomach began for a moment to turn. Then I thought what
the hell, it tasted fine to me and at one hundred years old, well what the heck
Joaquin had paled somewhat and asked me "Is that story for real?". "Sure
Joaquin, as far as I know it is. Bosoka insisted for years later that it was indeed the
flesh of a white man that the chiefs great grandfather had killed and
"I think wed better have another drink" said the Spaniard, "and
you tell me more of these people". So we poured ourselves another shot and both sat
and reflected the pros and cons of cannibalism long into the night.
A story of the cannibal island
A story of what few blessings life has to offer us. Count 'em
Buffalo fighting on Koh Samui in Thailand
to hear something really scary?
Cannibals? Sure, in Fiji there are, maybe.Shit, it tasted
just like pickled pork anyway!
Chopper runs in Bangkok
Elephants in Bangkok (no they were not pink and yes I was sober.
More or less sober that is.)
"Hey nice T-Shirt dude!". Full moon parties on Koh Phangaan
The Hash House Harriers strike again! This time it's "champagne
Mate of mine got his head smashed in by some soccer hooligans on
Mornings in Bangkok. On the way to work
PCs in the tropics
Advice for the owners of PCs in tropical regions
Search About Thomas
SEX1 Ah. The "sex"
topic. By request, I wrote about Thailand's reputed "sex industry".
And you think the traffic is bad in Bangkok? Try Samui!
How to survive in the tropics. This IS funny.
Times change. Sure they do, but it pissed Joey right off this time!
Finally, the chopper run!
in Thailand are a serious trip dudes!
troppo mate! Totally!
Like it says, up-country in Thailand on a small-ish motorcycle
of one's own desires
END OF LIST