Sander was 14 years old when his father bought a shipyard on the island of Bantam, south off the coast of Singapore. One of the busiest ports in the world, a shipyard business in the Straights of Singapore had a good chance of success if well managed and a bit of luck came your way. The same, unfortunately, can’t be said for the proposition of uprooting a teenage boy and transporting him halfway around the world. The Straights of Singapore, for Sander represented a daily obstacle in his ferry commute to school, a 45 minute journey across the waterway of his father’s opportunity.

Now in his 30s, I had known Sander for barely 5 minutes before he chose to share his story with me, reinforced by a glaze of guttural pain.

Harry’s is a small chain of bars across Singapore, the type that is attempting to maybe offer just that little bit more than tap beer and house spirits to a hopefully attractive clientele. I had taken a seat at the Changi Airport outlet next to Sander, as it became pretty evident that he was “three sheets to the wind” and the prospect of Christmas Day dawning tomorrow wasn’t exactly filling him with joy. He was, like many, in transit heading north, but unlike many, was mid-way through a three day bender. I on the other hand was on the red-eye to Sydney for Christmas Day festivities.

Sander ordered another short and coke in a language that I didn’t recognise. “It’s Indonesian” he replied to my quizzical glance.

Taking a sideways look in confirmation. “But these guys …”

“Yes they are Indian, the languages are pretty similar” was Sander’s illumination.

I gave a nod in thankful appreciation whilst thinking to myself “Well I never”.

I hadn’t quiet placed Sander from his accent which sounded sort of Afrikaans so was drawn to ask. It made perfect sense that he had been dragged from another busy commercial shipping town, that of Rotterdam, all those years ago. Nowadays, he was escorting the nautical hulks of the world to their final resting place in scrapyard docks, mostly in the Middle East. That he was from a people particularly adept at languages was standing him in good stead with his needed to frequently converse with the world’s peoples of manual labour.

He had taken his girlfriend once to Amsterdam and she had enjoyed experiencing the old world. Sander couldn’t get out of there quick enough. It was too cold and stuffy for him. Tonight the extent of his destination was to be the bars of Bangkok and that was about as far as his attention span was now prepared to extend. At some stage shortly after he would overland south from Bangkok down the Thai coast to his girlfriend’s home village. It was here that he was happiest, as just one of a handful of white men. Whilst thinking of his girlfriend’s village, he was the happiest that I saw him in our brief encounter, and I am sure that he will bring in the New Year with a bang.

I bade Sander farewell, wished him safe travels and all the best for the future. I had just a short walk around to my gate and another 45 minutes prior to boarding, but somehow I just thought that Sander and I had little more to share.