Free Platform by Michel Houellebecq Page B

go and get it.'
    'That would be nice, thanks; but let's have coffee first.'
    The coffee was revolting, weak, almost undrinkable; from that point of view at least, we were working to American standards. The young couple looked completely bloody stupid, it almost pained me to see their 'ecological paradise' crumbling before their eyes; but I had a feeling that everything was going to cause me pain today. I looked to the south again. 'I'm told Burma is very beautiful,' I said in a low voice, mostly to myself. Sylvie solemnly agreed: it was indeed, very beautiful, she'd also heard as much; that said, she forbade herself from going to Burma. It was impossible to think that one's money would go to supporting a dictatorship like that. Yes, yes, I thought, money. 'Human rights are extremely important,' she exclaimed almost despairingly. When people talk about 'human rights', I usually get the impression that they're being ironic; but that wasn't true in this case, at least I don't think so.
    'Personally, I stopped going to Spain after the death of Franco,' interrupted Robert, taking a seat at our table. I hadn't seen him arrive. He seemed to be in excellent
form, his formidable ability to infuriate well-rested. He informed us that he'd gone to bed dead drunk and consequently had slept like a log. He had almost chucked himself in the river a couple of times on his way back to the chalet; but in the end it hadn't happened. 'Insh'allah.' he concluded in a booming voice.
    After this parody of a breakfast, Sylvie walked back with me to my room. On the way, we met Josiane. She was serious, withdrawn and did not even look at us; she seemed to be far from the road to forgiveness. I discovered that she taught literature in civvy street, as Rene amusingly put it; I wasn't a bit surprised. She was exactly the kind of bitch who'd made me give up studying literature many years before.
    I gave Sylvie the tube of soothing lotion. 'I'll bring it straight back,' she said.
    'You can keep it, I don't think we'll come across any more mosquitoes; as far as I know they hate the seaside.' She thanked me, walked to the door, hesitated, turned round: 'Surely you don't approve j of the sexual exploitation of children!. . .' she exclaimed anguishedly. I was expecting something of the kind. I shook my head and answered wearily: 'There's not that much child prostitution in Thailand. No more than in Europe, in my opinion.' She nodded, not really convinced, and walked out. In fact, I had access to rather more detailed information, courtesy of a strange publication called The White Book, which I'd bought for my previous trip. It was apparently published - no author's or publisher's name was given — by an association called Inquisition 2000. Under the pretence of denouncing sexual tourism, it gave all the addresses, country by country - each revealing chapter was preceded by a short and vehement paragraph calling for respect for the Divine plan and the reintroduction of the death penalty for sex offenders. On the question of paedophilia, The White Book was unequivocal: it formally advised against Thailand, which no longer had anything to recommend it. It was much better to go to the Philippines or, better still, to Cambodia — the journey might be dangerous, but it was worth the effort.
    The Khmer Kingdom was at its apogee in the twelfth century, the era in which Angkor Wat was built. After that, it pretty much fell apart; since then Thailand's principal enemy had been the Burmese. In 1351, King Ramathibodi I founded the village of Ayutthaya. In 1402, his son Ramathibodi II invaded the declining Angkor empire. Thirty-two successive sovereigns of Ayutthaya marked their reigns by building Buddhist temples and palaces. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, according to the accounts of French and Portuguese travellers, it was the most magnificent city in all Asia. The wars with the Burmese continued and Ayutthaya fell in 1767, after a siege lasting fifteen