I was minding my own business drinking a coffee when a Chinese with dyed black hair that screamed  ‘I’M A DIRTY OLD MAN’ asked me if I’d like to play with women.

A tribe of sexy dark-skinned Dyak had just exited the duck shop.

Come over here Michael, I said.

He goes by the name of Michael West.

‘Only when I’m on the prowl.’

I was only on my first coffee after an arvo siesta, but I could tell he was a kindred spirit with a few more interesting stories than race dialectics which was becoming quite a boring and dangerous topic for me.

He shows me a photo of him with a whore in Pontianak in Indonesia, ‘an eight-hour bus ride from Kuching,’ he informs.

Or a  forty minute plane ride, I winked.

‘Cheap, very cheap. I’ve been there ten times.’

He shows me more photos of his trophy fucks on his phone. In every picture,  he’s wearing a ten-gallon Texan cowboy hat.

If ever there was a cowboy of Borneo, Michael Lu is him.

‘I only use my whoring name when I’m the prowl.’

Michael West is his handle on We Chat where he sources the latest young Chinese arrivals.

He’s down from Sibu, about 100 kilometers upriver where the longhouses and hot Iban chicks become thicker.

He says they don’t charge you to enter longhouses like they do here at the cultural village that’s on the outskirts of Kuching.

‘And you might get an offer from a hot Iban chick,’ he says.


‘No, a price needs to be negotiated.’

He says they like big foreigners like me.

I can tell he’s looking for a whoring partner.

‘And cigarettes are cheaper,’ he adds, ‘so is food and hotel prices.’

He’s hot on prices. I’m hot on cheap prices too.  We really do have a lot in common.

But the Chinese whores are not cheap, he says and shows me a picture of a  young thing from Guiyang in Central China, who works at a KTV Karaoke joint, saying she charges him 240 Ringgit.

‘And she won’t lower her prices.’

She’s back in China now but will return in a few days, says Michael. Air Asia fly directly to Shenzhen daily.

‘Every Whore Can Fly.’

Michael chuckles.

‘So there’s no shortage of Chinese whores,’ I add.

Michael just adored that thought.

Someones making good cash, I say ‘and it’s not us.’

He’s heading back on the hydrofoil tomorrow.

He hands me a packet of Greek cigarettes and says I’m welcome to come with him.

He points at the Long House Hotel down the road.

‘100 Ringgit a shot,’ he says.

I was drinking a coffee there the other day. My instincts are serving me well.

While these positive stories of ethnic harmony keep flowing, I’ll do my best to report them.

It’s the very least I can do.

I  asked Michael if knew John West?

He scratched his head.

He’s a fisherman and a popular seafood label in Australia supermarkets.

Michael was sold, so much that enquired where he could buy the outfit.

I said you can buy anything online and I’ll catch you later Chunky.

He was sold on his new nickname too.

John West, the Chunky fisherman. 

I could just imagine that being a hit in the longhouses.

Our cross-cultural exchange was over for now. Ideas were shared and the only currency that changed hands was information.

So next time you see a Chinaman wearing a sou’wester Fisherman’s hat in a  cathouse in a longhouse in the jungles of Borneo…

….Say hello, he won’t bite.


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