Michel

Most of the travellers I meet on the road are nice, a good chat at least. I meet the odd gem, who you click with, sometimes I meet real weirdos and nutters. Every now and again, I meet downright unpleasant, self-absorbed characters.

Such is Michel. We met in a group over a campfire stoked in an old US bomb casing in Phonsavan, Laos, then shared the same tour group and bus rides over the next couple of days. Michel's face is set in a permanent frowl or scown, and he spends most of his time making obnoxious, inappropriate comments while his equally sullen wife hops around shoving her camera in people's faces without asking (because apparently it's ok to do that in India, where they live).
Michel specialises in asserting to know a little bit about everything, assuming you know nothing, and then taking every opportunity to loudly proclaim his wisdom. He also specialises in conspiracy theories and stories of corruption. For example, our tour guide's asking me how I plan to get to Malaysia became Michel enlightening us as to how the Indians had lined their pockets after the tsunami. When sharing rice wine with a Laos family, he went on for ages about how it wasn't that strong; he then aggressively refused more, explaining that he's not used to alcohol because it's banned in India, but being from the UK I'd be alright because I sit around drinking all day normally.

He's French, but that really doesn't acquit him.