Buga gewesen, sehr erstaunt von Anfang an: der Anmarsch von der U-Bahn Messestadt West eine poststalinistische Ödnis, die Ticketbuden ein ärmlicher Verhau. 14 Euro bezahlt; nicht pro U-Bahn-Waggon, sondern pro Nase. 28 Mark sind das in richtigem Geld.

Kies- und Steppengrasödnis am Eingang West, alles wirkt verkommen, wie Bauplatz für die Buga 2009, kein bisschen charmant, gepflegt, liebevoll oder auch nur avantgardistisch. Ein paar Blumenbeete haben sie, aber sehr abgewirtschaftet. Wegweiser auf plastikgebundene Strohhaufen gespannt - originell? An Cafébude nichts ergattert - zu umlagert, obwohl jeder Baggersee romantischer wäre.

Kambodschanerin dabeigehabt, Deutschlandhighlights zeigen. Fragt die: "Habt Ihr keinen Schatten hier? Wieso marschieren alle durch die sengende Sonne - um ein paar traurige Blümchen in Reih, Glied und orangen Plastiktöpfen zu sehen?" Pro Hektar nur ein Sonnenschirm oder ein einzelnes mickriges Bäumchen, von mächtigen Pflöcken vorm Darniedersinken bewahrt. Wir lagern unter so einem Bäumchen auf einer öden langen leeren Wiese, rutschen alle zehn Minuten dem Schatten hinterher.

Was für ein Deutschlandbild vermittelt diese Wiese? Hohle Leere, die aber perfekt gemäht, jeder Baum gedreipflockt, Exerzierplatz?

Dann der "Zellengarten". Gefängnis? "Was sind das für Dreckhaufen hier", fragt die Kambodschinerin, "in eurer National Garden Show?". - "Liebe Besucherin, die Kieswälle gehören zum Ausstellungskonzept", sage ich. - Höfliches Schweigen. - "Da kann man überdimensionale Gipseier und Betonklötze besichtigen", sage ich. - Höfliches Schweigen. - "Bitte nicht auf die Eier klettern", sage ich. - Höfliches Schweigen.

In "Buga-Lounge" schließlich kühlen Sitzplatz gefunden. Schönes Meublement da, deshalb hängt an jedem Stuhl ein Zettel vom Möbelgeschäft. 20 Minuten Warten auf die Kellnerin, die hat leider zu tun. Tisch gewechselt, dann geht es. Kleinigkeit gegessen, natürlich Apfelschorle dazu, und dann - Toilette kostet 50 Cent extra, also eine Mark. Das müssen wir der Kambodschanerin erklären: 14 Euro Eintritt für staubige heiße Ödnis, plus teuer snacken, und dann im selben Lokal auch noch fürs Austreten zahlen - das ist exklusiv.

Die Gummibahn war nett; vor allem mal: Verschlungene organische Formen, nicht alles so militant aufgeräumt wie der ganze große Rest. Also lustig gehupft auf der Gummibahn - und an der allgegenwärtigen Metallkante lustig fies den Fuß geratscht. Dann wieder ein langer schnurgerader Hatsch zum See - mit seiner langen schnurgeraden Uferkante, schön ordentlich in grauen Beton gefasst. Natur pur.

Kurz vorm Ausgang Süd steckt eine Truppe Plastikköpfe in der Wiese. Kambodschanerin verzieht das Gesicht - "lass' uns weitergehen, das hier erinnert mich an Pol Pot."

Blümerant nicht die Blumen, aber die Wortkreationen: "Der Kick/Ball-Haus", "Die Pfütze/Wasser-Haus", "Aktivitätenband", "Buga-Lounge",
"Grünwerkstatt", "Parallele Gärten", "Spielbänder", "Dunkel Erlebnis". Die ganze Buga ist so - ein Gespinst, nichts dahinter, unverständlich, betongewordene Kopfgeburt. Lobt sie weiter.

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"Do you have fresh lemon juice", I ask the waitress?

"Yes, sir, but do you want it
- with soda or drinking water
- with ice or without ice
- with sugar or not?"

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Viet Girl Friend asks me to stop moto at a big roadside market. It had been agreed with her friend Miss Tai that we will bring some food for lunch which we will enjoy at Miss Tai's place.

1

Viet Girl Friend decides I have to sit down at a fruit juice stall while she will find the ingredients for a hearty Viet style lunch. I happily obey, ask her to buy something really special, wipe off 2000 ccm of sweat and settle with a good sinh to cam, freshly squeezed orange juice. Three toothless fruit juice ladies are watching me with utmost interest. After only 50 minutes, Phuong returns with a big bursting plastic bag. A lot of unbeknownst bizarre oversized overchlorophylled Mekong delta veggies stick out on the top. For me it looks very tasty, but I am not sure if this is "something special" for Miss Tai and family?
Now Phuong sits down for her own orange juice when suddenly - the plastic bag starts to shriek and to wobble! It is almost walking over the ground! I spray my sinh to cam all over the plastic table - what is this?!? The toothless fruit juice ladies are laughing themselves away. Phuong explains: "You tell me to buy food special. So I buy duck. But they only have live duck!" Reader, it is true: Under heaps of veggies, deep down in the plastic bag, my dear girlfriend Phuong has stuffed two live ducks!
"You cannot carry live ducks under a ton of veggies like that", I demand in shock. She gives a translation to the fruit juice ladies, and everybody has a good laugh. "Ducks are people, too", I scream. The market people roll on the floor.
The plastic bag wobbles and croaks. I burst with empathy. Phuong checks her watch: "We go?"

2

Viet Girl Friend and I are now bumping down a red dirt ox-cart track. We have left the well-paved main road behind and steer into the outbacks of real rural Mekong Vietnam.
Lunchtime. I am hungry, yes, but... on the shopping bag hook of our moto hangs a plastic bag full of veggies, plus two more passengers at the bottom... haven't heard them croaking lately... Are they taking a nap? Are they hungry, too? Wait a little, my feathered friends.
Hey, there is Miss Tai! Big welcome from her parents who are friendly, but quite ceremonial. Her father seems to have a motorcycle garage, but he is not eager to swing screwdrivers now. He gestures me to the main wooden couch with no cushions. Ice water, tea and fruit appear, Phuong and Tai chat away. The usual range of kids is standing in the door, watching the white man.
The ladies start to prepare the feast, but I am a man, so I have to sit down with Miss Tai's father and watch TV. Of course.

3

Viet Girl Friend reappears from the kitchen to shove one more fruit plate under my face. "What about the ducks, dear...?" "Mother kill ducks now", i learn, "you want see?" Ahm, ui... no need, dear... "But i want see", she smiles and floats off into the backyard on the rear side. Phuong and Tai don't want to kill the ducks themselves, but they happily watch Tai's mother doing the deed. I don't follow her, as i have never been into spectator sports anyway.

4

Viet Girl Friend is coming back from the kitchen - not with duck and veggies lunch, but with just another fruit plate for me. I am still being parked with Miss Tai's father in front of the TV. There are promising smells around the house, but no lunch is turning up. Phuong smiles conspiratorially and says: "Sorry, ducks ready soon... but... i already ate the very delicious piece... " What "delicious piece" is she talking about? She twinkles at me - "sorry... one duck i ate the heart already".

5

Viet Girl Friend and the other ladies finally turn up with dishes after dishes of duck meat, soup, cooked veggies, salad, rice, soy sprouts, plus obligatory bowls for nuoc mam (fish sauce) and chili sauce. The hungry sweating honoured guest from far away Old Europe gets the most treasured piece that's still in the pots:
With her best ceremonial face, Miss Tai's mother places in my personal bowl - a duck's head.

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400 Baht.

This is what the sign says: western adults pay 400 Baht (11 USD) to enter Ko Lanta Marine National Park. (Adult *Thais* pay 40 Baht.) It's on Lanta's southernmost tip, and I've bounced here over an abysmal dirt road on a rental Suzuki Smash. Ko Lanta Marine National Park seems to have a lovely viewpoint cum lighthouse with panorama east and west. I'd like to look around for half an hour and tell you more.

But heck, 400 Baht!

I approach the entry gate with two rangers on duty, shuffling ticket pads.

"Sawasdee khrap", I smile.

"Sawasdee khrap!"

"I would like to look around for 30 minutes...", I smile in clear Thai.

"Oh, 30 minutes..." they reply with an unhappy face.

"Yes, just 30 minutes."

They make an unhappy face and start to look somewhere else. Suddenly they don't seem to see me any more.

"30 minutes, ok", I say and walk towards the entry gate.

The forgot me already, look into the trees.

I'm in.

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"Yahoo very slow today", the service boy says as I walk into the internet shop opposite Marlin hotel. That's in Cambodia's beachtown of Sihanoukville.

"Not only Yahoo too slow", some customers moan from behind their monitors - "everything too slow!" I try to open Yahoo anyway. The status bar changes at a snail's speed, the bytes trickle in way too slow.

The service guy who just excused for the lame connection now sits down at the terminal besides me. As I see, he is busy downloading some huge MP3 files.

All computers in this shop are connected to one modem.

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