Back in the day I used to use Coca Cola as a travel guide or a remote barometer eg how far beyond Coca Cola have we gone. Only ever made it to a day. And that was a Khmer Rouge controlled zone in northwest Cambodia in the early 90s. And the barrier was as much ideological as it was geographical. To get some serious clicks in, you really need to hit the Congo - like the dude who wrote the book retracing Stanleys' footsteps searching for Dr Livingstone. It was some weird trip. And truly bizarre, he noted, was the fact that it was the grandparents en route who remembered "progress" as in motorways and railroads. For the kids, the jungle was back impeding the progress of Coke. In a vivid scene, the author is hacking through the bush when "clang" - his machete hits metal, it's the Belgian rail track concealed underfoot. Trains probably brought more wine and mineral water. But the Coke would have rode in on the back of the new CIA friendly political landscape following the assassination of the Congo's new nationalist Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba. But back to Blood River and the author is taking to a canoe. He's going up river. It's dark. It's hot. The jungle screams. Sayonara Cola. We're way past the DuLong bridge and you can feel him. Sweat, decay, disease. And him. Yeah him. Kurtz. Kurtz has turned his back on Coca Cola. A pox on it and all its carbonated bubbles. Blood River, well worth reading. Anyhow as you'll see, putting a few days between you and the treacly stuff is not for the faint hearted. It's hardcore. For most people it's an academic idea, a folly The shit's ubiquitous and Musk plans vending machines on Mars. But talking about ideological barriers to Coke's conquest. I recall an Asian businessman opening up a Coca Cola bottling plant in Cambodia in the very early 90s as the last one - if the movie the Killing Fields is to be believed - was destroyed as the Khmer Rouge tightened its grip on the capital dooming Phnom Penh to inevitable fall. So here we are 28 years later and someone is trying to get the sweet black stuff flowing again. The main problem, however, was not the Khmer Rouge as Mr Coca Cola was not targeting the more remote provinces where the guerrillas were pridedominant. He was going for the population centres that the KR harried but didn't control. So security would be tight around the big towns and cities with checkpoints everywhere, manned by government soldiers who, if they saw any salary at all, were paid a pittance. So these bored underpaid grunts high on rice whiskey - the sort of shit that takes from sober straight to psychotic without pausing at drunk - and packing serious firepower would see the big bright red truck chugging towards them. Holy consumerism. It's Christmas for kids. And nirvana for Buddhists just to be culturally sensitive. It's the winning ticket. It's the shakedown of shakedowns. Captain America is here with his big fat chequebook. Hey you dumped all those bombs on us, now it's time to drop some dime and some dollar, Dolla, dolla, dolla. Love you long time. Break open a bottle. So we got a gang of kids with AKs. And they got Capt America, got him at gunpoint. Something has gotta give. Back in Phnom Penh Mr Coca Cola ends appealing to the then Prime Minister Hun Sen - himself former Khmer Rouge who bailed when the revolution started to eat its young and who just recently kindly handed over the reins of power to his young, his son, Hun Manet. "Stop the shakedowns," Coke pleaded. it was crippling, the show. was going flat. He threatened shutdowns or closure just as Cambodia was trying to sell peace and stability to investors. The pesky Khmer Rouge kept screwing with that script. So Cambodia Inc certainly did not need the added problem of rogue government soldiers shaking down businessmen especially if they had already been shook. They had paid already, paid on entry. So...Atlanta, we got a problem. But time is on the side of the bubbles. At this stage of the game, that sticky, messy shit is all over the wheels of time, if not progress. So money is on the bubbles cos it is coming. Better not be in the way. By the late 90s the Khmer Rouge has imploded. They were out of harmony, someone said. Then Pol Pot himself died in 98 and was cremated on a mound of old rubbish. It's all over now baby blue. It was a shabby swansong to a spectacular genocide and a low key but dedicated civil war. Coke is here now. The guerrillas as well as rogue government troops and shakedown artists would all be swept up and vacuumed up by the greater power of a gangsta capitalist government. Meet the new boss. He ain't talking Mao or Marx. Nah. he's just speaks fluent dollar. AK in one hand, Coca Cola bottle in the other. Two of the biggest icons of the 20th century. Click click. Now I know we would all like to teach the world to sing.
In perfect harmony.
Grow apple trees.
And honey bees.
Not to forget those snow White turtle doves.
But sing along there suckers.
Here's the real thing:
Don't fuck with the man from Atlanta .