Back in the early 90s I was in a Bangkok bar. I heard an accent and approached the speaker, a 40ish man in a flannel shirt.
“Are you from Bangor?”
“Yeah, what about you?”
“Falmouth Foresides.” I had lived the first eight years of my life across from Portland. “We must be the only two Maine people in Thailand.”
“No, those two fellas over there are from Garrison.”
“Garrison, Maine?”
“A-yup.”
We linked forces. No one could decipher our accents, which thickened with each beer, until we sounded like lobstermen from the 19th Century. The lights came on. My three Maine friend bar fined their choices and I said, “We mush be the greatest aggregate of Maine natives in Asia.”
“Heck, we’re probably the greatest number of Mainiacs outside of the State.”
I bid them good night and returned to the Malaysia Hotel. I lay on my bed in room 302 and dreamed about the ferry from Portland to Diamond Bar. It was a wicked good ride.