A mug’s shot

That wintry night, I lay sprawled upon a rug, thumbing through years of tourist-trap photo relics. My first picture was one at Trafalgar Square over twenty years ago. Untutored in the tricks of the tourist trade, I had proudly submitted to a pose by a statue of an ex-viceroy of India. “10 pounds, mate,” the old man had smiled, handing me a Polaroid shot of myself wearing a sheepish smile.

Over the years, I remember countless family pictures being clicked by peddlers and tour organisers. Photographers always lurked behind those welcoming crew aboard those tourist rides who would hurriedly escort us to a vantage point despite my meek protestations. An hour or two later, we would return ashore only to find hundreds of similar-looking photographs put up within a makeshift kiosk. Sometimes there were several pictures from which to decide — a close-up of my beaming children, and that one irresistible picture of the entire family. Fishing for my wallet, I would relent, inevitably ending up with the 5-for-$75 deal.

One of my more interesting experiences was in Kanchanaburi of the River Kwai fame. A scorching hot day had led to some family altercations, even as we walked through crowded streets that led to the famed bridge. A few hours later we returned even as a shout in Thai drew my attention. A street vendor was calling out to us. As I walked away, the shouts grew louder. Suspecting something, we walked towards the stall. Neatly arranged upon a shelf were rows of coffee mugs. I studied the one he was brandishing.

Stealth, shock and awe were apparently methods the Thai photographer had relied upon. Embossed upon the mug was a picture of a tourist family definitely not happy about something that day!