Once a British military man, then a Hong Kong drug addict and now an author, Chris Thrall tells an enthralling and delusional story in Eating Smoke, One Man's Descent into Drug Psychosis in Hong Kong's Triad Heartland (2011, Blacksmith Books, 418 pages). It's an autobiographical tale of addiction, paranoia and near-tragedy for a 25-year-old gweilo who comes to Asia in 1995.
Early on, the readers learn of two prime destinations to buy and consume illicit drugs in Hong Kong. One is Chungking Mansions, a towering, run-down complex of almost-everything on Nathan Road in teeming Tsim Sha Tsui. “Ordinarily, the smell of curry and garlic would have been inviting, but mixed with that of hair ointment, cheap aftershave and body odour, as well as urine, faeces, rotting food and pest life, it created a miasma of suffocating proportions.”
The second place -- for a better-smelling, more out-of-the-way version of the “high life” – is Lamma Island. “ ‘Fuck it, Pepi! I was dying for a smoke.’ I punched the mattress.
Pepi tilted his head back and chuckled. Then, bringing his gracious laughter lines and deep tan closer, he said. ‘Well, you know what this means, don't you?’
‘Nope. What does this mean, Pepi?’
‘This means we're gonna have to take a trip to Lamma Island.' ”
Initially, Thrall moves to Hong Kong for an ill-advised business venture. “I definitely thought I was right. I belonged elsewhere... in Hong Kong, the business capital of the world.”
As always, Hong Kong makes a powerful impression. “The sights, sounds and smells of Cantonese culture and exchange bombarded my senses as elaborate facades sold everything from Rolex watches to dried tiger penis, steam poured out of noodle shops and a cacophony of traffic noise complemented the vivid clashing colours of signs....”
Some products that Thrall tries to sell have flaws. “...the Quorum Bicycle Alarm that everyone hoped would set off firecrackers in the Chinese market cost eight times more to buy there than a bicycle itself.”
In the tropical heat, business prospects evaporate. “Without the proper merchandise, Quorum had as much chance of success as a Siamese twin in a game of hide-and-seek.”
Almost as fast, Thrall falls prey to crystal-meth despite knowing its dangers. “As I stood there on the platform at Tsim Sha Tsui for the third time in a week, unable to stop myself going to buy meth and not wanting to stop anyway, I knew I was addicted.”
When under the influence of drugs, some routine Hong Kong activities turn extraordinary. On the Mass Transit Railway, “My fellow passengers slowly began to morph like some bizarre mutation from passive commuters conversing in subdued Cantonese tones into chattering chimpanzees. It wasn't so much strange as intriguing. I found myself staring at the couple across from me, wondering if the shape-shifting would continue and how it'd be if they started screeching, beating their chests and rampaging up and down the carriage, swinging off the handrails and chucking bananas at me.”
Addiction and disorientation create problems for Thrall to hold jobs. Always soon dismissed, he works as a salesman, night-club doorman, disc jockey and school teacher. At work, he spends much of his time “sorting out jack shit from bugger all”.
A transient resident of different neighborhoods (Admiralty, Mongkok and Wan Chai), Thrall descends into delusions and erratic behavior. “Living in the Not-So-Fragrant Harbour really spun your melon at times.”
Soon readers too must struggle to decide what really happens and what wafts from drug-induced illusions. Maybe the exact dimensions of reality hardly matter.
Even the book's title has puzzling origins. “ ‘Sik yin! Yat gun ho lok!’ came that bizarre shout down the stairs of the club, again, as I sat behind the lectern enjoying a busy evening.
I'd been hearing it for days in both English and Chinese accents. I knew what it meant. I just couldn't see from down the stairwell who kept shouting it from the street above.
Sik yin, literally, means ‘eating smoke’ – ‘smoking’ as in cigarettes. Yat gun ho lok means ‘one can of coke’. But why people were shouting it at me, I had no idea.”
Sometimes the drugs deliver jolts of courage. Often they don't. “By fuck, I was scared... absolutely fucking terrified.”
Fascinating, disturbing and even revolting, Eating Smoke won't please anyone squeamish about Hong Kong's nasty side or about illegal, self-destructive behavior. “Sitting on the filthy concrete, I convulsed occasionally and whimpered like a sick dog. I hadn't slept for days, the crystal meth pulsing through my veins denying all refuge from the madness enveloping me.”
Despite Thrall's flights of fancy, the book also has a rich candor that makes a powerful anecdote for tourism-promotion videos. Here's the real Hong Kong: “...I decided to (scoot) up a back alley – a dark stinking shortcut that crawled with fat rats thriving on scraps thrown out of the back doors of restaurants. They weren't ordinary rodents, either. These dirt-matted mutants only scurried out of the way so they could watch with contempt as you passed through their patch, jeering as stale water dripped down from antiquated air conditioners.”
Partial credit for the book's strong points goes to its editor, Alan Sargent, a veteran prose repairman who handles many of the best English books written in or about Hong Kong.
Readers familiar with Hong Kong will recognize much, including the types of triad-infested nightclubs where Thrall works. Even so, many of the events come as surprises, as do the contents of backrooms: “Tucked in next to the electricity cables on the conduit overhead were two sawn-off iron bars – about three inches long and perfect for holding in your fist to add to the punch you'd give an unwelcome guest. I found a length of metal rod on top of the air-conditioning unit, a heavy chain behind the refrigerator and a rusty meat cleaver underneath it. ‘Wow! It's like something from a Bruce Lee film’.”
Most visitors to Hong Kong, and even many residents, never have experienced the city's sinister core more closely than they will in Eating Smoke. Thank goodness!
Born in Kent, England, Thrall joined the Royal Marine Commandoes at age 18. During a seven-year military stint, he served in Northern Ireland and trained in Arctic warfare, the latter being of limited value in sweltering Hong Kong.
The author remembers enough from his Hong Kong days-of-haze to fill this memorable, slightly disturbing book. Curious readers may wonder if he can write equally well on drug-free topics.
Approval rating: 78 per cent.
For more information: www.blacksmithbooks.com
(August 27, 2011)
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