Behind the stories in Sumbar on Sumbeach.

All the characters in Sumbar on Sumbeach are fictional, though many of their germinations lie in my memory of people I’ve met while travelling outside Australia.
When one travels alone, one meets and listens to many more strangers, than if one is travelling with a companion or spouse. Strangers, who over an evening drink or a shared bus trip, one on one, will tell their tales, experiences, biases and confidences. For me, the surprising thing has been how many of these stories have stayed with me.
The story I gave Billy Mackie – overstaying his visa – was told to me by an Englishman in southern Thailand, who was obsessed with a Thai prostitute. In 1996 we shared a beer in a cheap hotel, where he extolled the beauty of an aged Thai ‘working woman’, whose beauty, sadly, had long left her, though he couldn’t see it. The hotel was in a town near the Malaysian border – a fact all the more poignant, because he’d never taken the simple train trip into Malaysia and back, to renew his visa.
That year, I’d flown from Sydney to Singapore and took local buses, trains and a hire car up the peninsula through Malaysia and Southern Thailand to Hua Hin, where after twenty-one days I met my wife, who flew in from Australia. At the time I had a desire to understand ‘how Asia works’. This is the journey I gave to Werner, though as each draft emerged, Werner’s journey to Sumbeach has been pared back.
I’ve located the fictional seaside village of Sumbeckarnawan (Sumbeach) south of Hua Hin. For those who know the area, they will know that no such place exists, as down there, there are modern houses and upmarket hotels built right to the sand, with a small headland on which stands a large golden Buddha.
I’ve been to Hua Hin many, many times since the early 1990’s, and it has been the model for many of the physical descriptions I’ve given Sumbeach. I’ve seen it grow from its sleepiness, to the bustling activity of today.
I don’t play golf; however, I’ve heard many golfing stories, the most risqué of which I’ve given to Donald Randalson Jnr and Suzy-Q. Their aftermath is fictional.
In Hua Hin, I’ve always been warmly welcomed at ‘Bernie’s’ – the model for ‘Terry’s’ – and yes, the ex-pat golfers do meet there. The real Bernie is not the fictitious Terry, nor vice versa – though they are both gentlemen. On my last visit to Hua Hin, Bernie’s bar was no longer there. I fear he may have left us.
In 2000, at Athens airport, I was on a transfer coach from the plane to the terminal, when I found myself jammed next to the most beautiful blonde woman I had ever seen. She had a dark haired younger woman (daughter?) with her. We must have spoken, because I remember this gorgeous blonde’s accent being South African. This fleeting encounter, experienced while hanging on desperately to the overhead straps, as the bus hurtled around painted lines and down painted lane ways on the tarmac, has stayed with me forever. I have made the two of them the basis for Amelia and Olivia.
I have never met anyone resembling Police Captain Choniburshakanari.

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