New dating website out there called Thai for Love. Here’s an infographic with some Thai dating tips. Thoughts?
My Thai wife and I spend more and more time outside of Thailand and though she’s acclimated pretty well to the changes, the one thing that she always misses (besides really, really, really spicy Thai food and her family) is television shows from Thailand.
Her English is good enough to watch farang television but what she just like som tom, she gets a craving for shows in her own language. Even I have to admit that I like to watch some of the shows even though my Thai isn’t good enough to completely understand 100% of everything that’s said. Not that I’ve become a Lakorn junkie or anything but I do enjoy watching the local news from time to time just to get the Thai perspective.
So I searched around on the site and couldn’t find any articles about watching Thai TV from overseas so I figured it would make for a good post.
First off, you can always look for Thai videos on YouTube. There are tons of shows that are uploaded there. The big problem is that most of the titles are in Thai script so unless you know the Thai script of the show you want to watch, it’ll be difficult to find.
While Thai TV3 seemed to be broken when I visited, they claim to show a live stream on the website. Funny enough, another website was showing the live television stream live while ThaiTV’s official site was broken.
Thai PBS also shows their programming on their website.
SeesanTV seems to have a comprehensive listing of Thai television programming for a fee. They also appear to have US and UK shows either dubbed in Thai or with Thai subtitles.
Other TV aggregator sites are ThaiWare and ASEAN IPTV. I haven’t tried it yet but supposedly ASEAN IPTV even has a Roku channel so you can watch Thai TV on your regular television as long as you have a Roku player ($49 – $89 USD). Apparently you have to pay $99 a year for a subscription to ASEAN IPTV’s content so I haven’t bit the bullet on that one yet.
Speaking of alternative means of accessing Thai television programs, if you have an iPad or iPhone you have some choices. You can search the iTunes store for “Thai TV” and there seem to be a few apps that stream Thai television programming. I haven’t really used any of these so I can’t vouch for them.
I guess I would be remiss if I did not mention where you could find Thai Lakorn videos. I asked my wife for some sites and she gave me I Heart Lakorns. Recently my wife seems to have found some of her favorite Lakorns on Watch Lakorn so it’s worth giving that one a try too.
I am African American and I just want to write about my experiences here in Thailand just to vent some of my many frustrations here. I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself first I am 26 years old university graduate from the Midwest, I first came to Asia as a Teenager the first country I went to was Japan and I loved it I had a lot of fun I found the people to be very friendly and helpful it was a good cultural exchange and I have many treasured memories from my experiences in Japan. I guess what brought me to Thailand is just seeing what else is out here and I don’t regret coming but I do have daily struggles with living here.
My first big hardship I had to overcome was securing work to be completely honest Thai people will not hire blacks it does happen from time to time but you have to knock on a lot of doors and I remember some days it was so depressing cause I felt like I was knocking forever. I can remember so many times calling schools and they would be so excited to hear my interest in the position I was always very confident talking over the phone but as soon as they would see me… If you are not white and you want to work in Thailand let me give you a tip look for white employers I was lucky and found another American who was running a English school here and he hired me and that’s how I was able to secure work.
Another one of my day to day problems is just self-esteem issues, back home I was a power lifter and a fighter so I have always been into taking good care of my body I don’t think I am handsome but I try but here I feel so ugly… I know it sounds kind of gay and kind of lame for me to say that but men do care how they look and every man wants to look their best, I live in Thailand now and when in Rome do as the Romes do. Sometimes I find myself asking myself if I should be using skin whiteners maybe that would make them value me more as a human being maybe that would make them see me as man. I can remember times walking around in the mall and I can over hear the Thai people talking about me they would say “what’s wrong with his hair”, “he’s so big”, and of course my favorite “I scared”… I hear comments like these often but what makes it all kinda funny is that I’m just as “dark” as one of them for being black my skin is light because my mother is Native American.
I have had good experiences with Thai people but even the good times aren’t all that good. I don’t have many opportunities to meet people when I have its usually at the gym I like to work out and I met a close friend their so for me the gym is always a good place for positive social interactions. I remember I met a guy at the gym, Thai guy real nice he’s in good shape and I don’t know how we got to talking but one day we did I remember we talked for like a hour about bodybuilding. I bumped into him again a couple of days later and this time we got to talking about movies and entertainment and this time we talked even longer then the last time… I didn’t see him for awhile after that but the next time we started talking are conversation was a lot more personal he started talking to me about his family and education and things of that nature and as usual we talked for a long time, I had so much fun talking to him I asked him for his number I figured we could go out and grab a bear and talk more about such things and he said no… We still talk and its always a pleasure he’s a very smart and insightful man but my relationship with him and all other Thai people are departmentalized meaning he only wants to be friends with me at the gym he would never want to spend any real time with me outside of that and that’s the way things are with every Thai guy I know…
Now on to the fun stuff and I’m sure this is what most of you want to hear. How often do I get laid? How often do I go out on dates? Do I have a girlfriend? Well I haven’t had sex in over a year and that’s putting it nicely and I haven’t been out on a date in more than two years and no Thai woman wants to get close enough to me to be my girlfriend. I don’t believe in prostitution and to be honest the racism I have experienced from Thai people has also made me racist as well I’m not up to dating or sleeping with a Thai woman given what they believe in which is I am shit because I am born I won’t do it. When I did date a Thai woman I felt like I was more of a accessory then a date the woman was deeply involved in the partying and rap music and I was a perfect fit for the image she was trying to portrayed which I found offensive as I consider myself a individual and I personally don’t like to party I can count how many times I go out in a year on both my hands.
I know what your thinking with all this BS why stay? Answers simple you can live like a king here on nothing I enjoy my life style its very relaxed and as much as the Thai people dislike me and hate me to be honest the feelings mutual. I’m sad to say that cause I wasn’t raised to be racist I wasn’t raised to believe in hate but this is what the people here project on me and I have to be thick skinned to make it the hate and frustration fuels me to get through the day sometimes… All that aside I again I want to say I do like it here I don’t want to offend anyone but truth be told I like Thailand the country I don’t really like Thai people.
I’ve read a lot of stuff about Thailand. There isn’t much else to do here in my bedsit in the northern England industrial town where I live. At least it used to be industrial, but the shipyards closed down long ago and there isn’t much of anything here now. I’m 40 years old and I had been living with my mother, but she recently went to meet her maker and I had to sell the house to pay off the debts she built up at the Bingo hall. Her afternoons there were the only pleasure she got after Dad passed over, and she soon spent her pension money and had to borrow from whoever she could to keep playing. Bless her. It wasn’t her fault that she was no good with figures. Which might explain why she never won anything at Bingo I suppose.
Anyways, after the house was sold I moved into a rented room and lived the kind of life many single men of my age do. That is, signing on for work at the Job Centre, spending evenings watching tv and having a night out at the pub and a few beers at the weekend. It was when I was down at The Drunken Toad one such night that I got talking to John. He’d been to some place called Thailand and was going on about all the fun that could be had over there. Well, I’d never been anywhere much, because when Mum was alive we always enjoyed a couple of weeks staying at the same bed and breakfast place in Blackpool. It was nice going back there every year and seeing everything the same. The people running the small hotel were the same, the guests were the same as the year before, even the stain on the wall in the room we always had was the same.
John was telling me he used to be living the same kind of life as me until he came into a bit of money. I didn’t ask how. Around my way it’s best not to ask too many questions. Then he’d seen some travel show on tv one night about Thailand. It talked about all these golden temples and beautiful women and the sunshine and this wonderful beach resort called Pattaya where they had palm trees along the shore. It sounded too good to be true so he decided to give it a bit of a go. He said he had been living the life of a king every night he was there and had to fight the women off. That made my ears perk up, because while I was living with mum I couldn’t get out much because she was a bit wobbly on her legs, what with her age and her liking for the odd glass of gin. If I ever did manage to bring a girl home, like Mavis the cashier down at the supermarket, I’d be about to really get going on the sofa and mum would turn the light on and come shuffling into the room in search of her false teeth. Urg! Anyways, John told me you couldn’t fail in Thailand, the women were falling over for you, and I decided I had to go and have a look. Fortunately I had managed to put a little money away for a rainy day, and I started making plans.
First, I wanted to have a look at Bangkok. I’d read quite a lot about Soi Cowboy so I decided to have a look at what all the fuss was about. I couldn’t believe what I found! It was like a fairground with all the lights and noise and people, and there were hundreds of girls standing around and calling out to me, saying I was handsome. And these girls were the sexiest things I had ever seen, much better than Mavis. I stood there wondering what to do, when one girl came up to me, took my arm and dragged me into her bar, the Naked Pussy. I had been surprised at what was going on outside, but I nearly fell over when she pulled me through the curtain at the door and my senses were assaulted by the lights and loud music and about 20 naked girls dancing on stage. The girl found me a seat, told me her name was Lek and asked if I would buy her a drink.
Lek had only been working there for a week so I was lucky to find her. She was very nice and asked me my name and where I came from and where I was staying and how long I was going to be in Thailand. No girl in England had ever been so interested in me. She nestled up close to me and I was overwhelmed by her perfume and soft skin. When she told me that she could come back to my hotel with me and spend the night it was all I could do to stop myself yelling in delight. I am a gentleman so will not tell you what happened later, but I must confess I didn’t get much sleep and found it hard to walk the next day. Lek wanted me to take her shopping though, and how could I say no after the affection she had shown me. She knew exactly where to go, and I looked forward to seeing her wear her new gold necklace and the beautiful clothes she bought. I thought they were a little revealing, but she told me that was Thai fashion so I suppose that was okay. We spent the next few days together, and although she asked me for some money to help her brother Somchai fix his motorcycle and for a new washing machine for her sick mother I was glad to help. You should have seen the smile it brought to her pretty face. The only thing that bothered me about her was a tattoo above her left breast that said ‘Dave’, but she told me it was the name of her father who had just died and she had it done to remember him by.
Everything was perfect, although there was one bad time I had at the Naked Pussy. It was dark on Soi Cowboy because there had been a power cut and so we decided to leave together. But something terrible happened. After she had gone to have a giggle with her friends and say goodbye to them, and while I was in the toilet, in the blackout she mistakenly left the bar with some obnoxious German the mamasan told me was a regular customer called Hans, who I’d noticed had been eying her up all night. It wasn’t until two hours later that she realised her error and came rushing back to the bar. Her hair was wet and she was breathing heavily, but she blamed that on the humidity and running back to find me. She became distraught when I said I was very upset that she had left the bar with another man and I had to go back to my room to think things over, and when she burst into tears what could I do except hold her tight and buy her a tray of tequilas to cheer up her and her friends that had come over to comfort her. Anyone can make a mistake, I suppose. I did wonder how she didn’t realise her mistake when he spoke, because Hans has a strong German accent and I have a thick northern accent, but she said that all farangs sound the same to her and she can’t understand most of what we say to her, so she just smiles and rubs our groin.
After a while I began to get a little short of money. After all, things were tough at home and I had to think of the future. Lek was very disappointed when I couldn’t afford to buy her a pair of shoes she wanted at Siam Paragon, and I knew that before long I wouldn’t be able to afford even to buy her and her friends at the Naked Pussy any more drinks. When I told her about my plight I thought she would be sympathetic because she had told me she loved me too much, but instead she got angry and called me a cheap Charlie. When I said I’d see her again that night she told me she was busy, so I stayed in that night and tried to watch some silly soap opera on the tv where they blurred out a glass of wine but showed two people threatening each other with guns. That was odd, I thought.
The next day I tried to call her but her phone was turned off. This had happened before a couple of times and Lek told me it wasn’t turned off but the phone system was very bad in Thailand and sometimes the calls didn’t go through. Even though I couldn’t contact her it didn’t matter, because I planned to go back to the Naked Pussy that night to see her anyway. But when I arrived she wasn’t there. When I told the mamasan that I hadn’t been able to tell Lek I was coming because her phone appeared to be turned off she told me that Lek was always getting drunk every night and then losing her phone, and that racks me with guilt because I know she must only be trying to drown her sorrows because I can’t be there with her all the time, buying her the tequilas she loves so much. My, can she drink them, but I know she gets thirsty because it’s such a hot climate so I’m happy to buy her as many as she likes. And for her friends too because she tells me they always take care of her when I’m not there. They are such sweet girls so how can I refuse. And I like to treat the mamasan too, because she whispers to me what a good girl Lek is and how she makes sure she never goes with any other customers but me.
I went back to see her several times but they’ve always stopped me at the door and told me not to bother as she isn’t there. Last night though I was just arriving to try one more time when I saw her come out of the bar with Hans and take him to some hotel just around the corner. I was devastated. She had told me she loved me for ever, and now this! Now I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I hang around outside the Naked Pussy hoping for just a glimpse of her. I thought I might go home and save up all my money for a year and come back to see her, but now? My life is in ruins.
So, I wanted to write this to warn you about Lek. All she wanted was to use me to make as much money as possible and she never really had any feelings for me. It’s easy to know who she is. She works at the Naked Pussy, number 18, and she’s about 5’3” with long dark hair. Watch out for her. You have been warned.
Why do so many lose their heads and their wallets to prostitutes. At home they are always, always, sordid and it is quite obvious it is a business deal. Only very occasionally does a customer establish a relationship with a prostitute, and even then only over a period of time. But in Thailand there is an almost instant rapport established between two people not only wanting to do business but have fun. Again, that is missing in the punters home town. Fun is not part of the equation, only a modicum of satisfaction.
With that in mind, it needs a very detached view indeed to recognise that, despite the impression that a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship has quickly developed, it is still for one of the partners strictly business. Sure, she will offer far, far more than a prostitute back home, but that is what she is. She is a prostitute. She is there to make money, not be your girlfriend, and she will make you feel good partly because that is her nature and Thais do not have the same sexual hang-ups that often exist in the West, but largely to ensure that as a satisfied customer you will tip her handsomely. It’s not rocket science, but so many are so belittled by the rejections they receive at home from femi-nazis who have a vastly inflated impression of their value, that when they see how welcoming the girls in Thailand are they are there wagging their tails like eager dogs sniffing a bone.
But the reality is no matter how affectionate the girls are, no matter how attentive, no matter how stunning they might look, no matter how well they satisfy you back in the hotel room, you are renting them by the hour. They are not for sale. They are for rent, and when you leave you have to give them back. Trying to retain the sale by sending them money simply doesn’t work. The fact that you are unable to recognise that you cannot continue to buy their affection when you are not there merely marks you out as a rather sad and pathetic loser to them. They’ll wonder why you are so desperate to hang on to what they recognise and encourage as an illusion, and pity you.
Because there is always, always, another customer. The evening after you have flown back home there will be some other investor sitting at your spot in the bar with your girl doing her best to persuade him that she is the hottest thing he has ever experienced in his entire life. She will be near-naked on his lap, he will be fondling the breasts you were fondling the day before, because that is the way things work. That is her business, and like any business if they provide a satisfactory service they will have customers waiting in line to give them money. Customer you, customer him. Same same. Live with it.
Visitors to Thailand know there is such an easy availability of partners. Anyone, except perhaps, perhaps, the most hideous, are absolutely guaranteed a girl on their knee and sexual olympics in the bedroom. You simply cannot fail. I’ve seen an old man of at least 70, in a wheelchair, being cared for by a dozen girls in short black cocktail dresses. Where else can he achieve that. You can be sure it was beyond his wildest imagination, his most extreme fantasy, back home. And if one girl has an attitude, there is always, always, one next to her ready to please you in ways you could search for years for back home. In Thailand, it takes minutes, if not seconds. As Dana would say, sweet Jesus on a cracker. It boggles the mind.
But sober up. The girls also have the same easy availability of partners. Plane-loads of horny guys are landing all day, every day, and all are looking to invest some money in relieving their frustration of having to deal with the frozen sexual tundra they’ve left behind. A never-ending stream of men are coming through the doors of the bars, and the girls are just as spoiled for choice. If one guy is being picky, because he can, another will arrive within minutes. Go back to the bar one evening and find ‘your’ girl isn’t there, and they’ll tell you she has holiday or is sick. Translation: she’s off romping in bed with another customer. Come back later/tomorrow/next week. Wait your turn. Sit down, have a drink (and we’ll find you an alternative partner). Sit in a bar one evening and just watch one girl operate. It’s a wonder to behold. Return over a few days, and watch as one regular ‘boyfriend’ is replaced by another. See how she fondly bids one guy farewell as he leaves and greets another with seemingly genuine affection immediately he walks through the door, promising him a moment of heaven if he just buys her a glass of cola. My God! Who could refuse.
Some relationships do work long-term. The bars can act as an introduction agency in which both partners find what they are looking for. For her, financial and sometimes emotional security, and for him an affectionate and caring sexual partner. But the odds against are astronomical. Why? You would almost certainly have to lower your intellectual expectations, because no matter how beautiful, sexy and fun-loving they might be, usually the girls are really not that bright. The reason we like the girls so much is that as well as being sexy they are so cute. But listen to this. Kids are cute. Adults are not cute. Think about it. You are dealing with someone with the mind of a child.
You will never be able to discuss the nuclear issue in Iran with them, or what the Taliban are doing in Afghanistan, because they have no interest in or even knowledge of such matters. Actually, why should they if it has nothing to do with them. That is a burden the educated Westerner puts upon himself. But that is what we do, and we do like to discuss matters that have nothing to do with us and we can have no influence over. And you’d certainly miss that with your empty-headed sex-machine. If the sex is enough, then perhaps you have the same mental age as your partner and are therefore well-matched and it might work briefly on a superficial level, until one or both of you tire of the game or the looks begin to fade. Enjoy it while you can. But if you are educated, imagine what it might be like to never, ever, have an intelligent conversation with your partner. What happens when the words run out and the sex eventually isn’t what it used to be, when everything fades, everything becomes a little stale. Then what?
Recent reports in a number of western newspapers – Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and Canada – suggest that Thailand is one of the most dangerous countries in the world, for the aforementioned countries’ nationals, to either be living in or visiting. Based on recent statistics the newspapers reported that, in terms of serious injury or death, their citizens are more at risk in Thailand than almost anywhere else in the world apart from declared war zones. To add balance to the argument the reports also clearly stated that the majority of the injuries, and fatalities were the result of misadventure or road accidents. In instances where murder or serious assault was involved the Thai authorities were praised for their professionalism in apprehending the perpetrators. All too often though, it is found that the perpetrators were either a jealous business competitor trying to eliminate the competition, or a greedy wife or girlfriend hoping to cash in on the death of her husband or boyfriend. These deeper level facts are something that is often not made clear in the report of the death or serious assault. It may be touched upon but we are often left to draw our own conclusions regarding the machinations behind the event. For many expats living in Thailand, these types of occurrences are an all too familiar theme with greed, more often than not, being the primary motivator. Sadly it is also quietly acknowledged that many of the victims – foreign husbands, boyfriends, or business competitors – put themselves in a position to be a victim in the first instance. That they weren’t street smart or savvy enough and often, through their own actions or naivety, help create the circumstances leading to their injury or demise. Even though the local English language newspapers do a reasonable job reporting the eventual apprehension of the greedy wife, girlfriend, or jealous business competitor, nothing much is ever mentioned of the behind the scenes story. The rivalries, jealousies, motivations and emotions that are the fabric of a human tragedy go unreported.This book seeks to rectify that and it also seeks to show balance; that as much as the blame can be pointed at the motivations of a jealous business competitor, greedy wife, or girlfriend, it can also be apportioned to the poor life decisions made by the victim. For many of us who continue to live in Thailand, or those who are considering moving here, there is a lesson in that. That one must take responsibility for one’s own actions at all times and never put yourself in a position to be a victim. As a foreigner in Thailand you are, in most instances, on your own. You are, whether you like it or not, very much the director of your own destiny.
Now available on-line at Bangkok Books:
Mark Jones (aka MEGA)
A fool and his money
they say are soon parted
but that is’nt me
i’m just so good hearted
This morning she called me
at Three Twenty Five
her Mother was sick
and might not survive
“Send money now”
she pleaded through tears
I said that i would
to allay all her fears
“Is Ten Thousand enough”?
i asked to be sure
she said “make it Twenty
you know i so poor”
The girl that i love
has so much bad luck
last month her father
was hit by a truck
I sent what i could
and wished the man well
i think he’s okay
but you never can tell
When the buffalo died
she called me and cried
Western Union she thought
would be best
I sent a months pay
the very next day
she said she would wait
for the rest
My friend said he saw her
with a handsome young guy
all decked out in gold
on a new motosai
I know it’s not true
what on earth was he thinking ?
between me and you
i think he’d been drinking
I know that she’s waiting
to see me again
she say’s that i’m not
like most other men
I was hoping to see her
sometime in July
but i’m working all hours
just to get by
A fool and his money
well that is’nt me
like the girl said
I have “too much jai dee”
The sticky humidity pricks our skin as soon as we alight the aircraft. It’s almost midnight and the three of us have had quite a day. Nonetheless, irrepressible excitement overcomes fatigue, and we make way toward the capital of the country: Bangkok.
The tune of the 80’s hit, “One Night in Bangkok” had basically been put on repeat in our heads. Stories of amphetamine-based energy drinks, terrible Thai whiskey, and of course, ladyboys had filled our ears in the months preceding departure. Immediately upon arrival, I understood why.
Our pink taxicab from the airport drove quickly and swerved smoothly. After safely reaching our hostel, we were unsure of a fair fare. At this point, anything between 500 and 5,000 baht seemed reasonable. Currency conversion from yuan to HK dollar to baht left us in an unknowing air. We settle at a rate later discovered to be excessively high, but at a difference of about US$3, we have no worries.
Lub D Bangkok hostel turned out to be fantastic. We held three of the eight beds in the mixed dorm and settled quietly as our ‘roommates’ slept. The place was clean, had hot showers, flushing toilets, and a sociable lobby. Our heat-induced thirst for beer would go unquenched as our first lesson in Thailand was learned: no alcohol can be sold between midnight and 3am. Also, sales between 8am and noon are prohibited. Good thing I usually drink between 3 and 8am……….. :-\
I woke up with my jeans on my face. Apparently they had fallen onto my bunkmate’s head during the night, and he returned them accordingly. I hadn’t yet a lock for the locker so I shared my twin bed with my overstuffed backpack.
Day one of seeing the city answered many of our questions right away. With zero background of the Thai language I was slightly concerned that getting around would be very difficult. Fears were placated when we saw first hand how the economy of this country is run: English-speaking tourists and their linguistically capable vendors. Nobody had excellent English by any means, but they know enough to convince you to give them money. Sometimes you get had, and others you can’t believe what a steal you get. I bought shoes and some tanks and still don’t know if I got a good deal or not. All business transactions held a degree of uncertainty.
We took a river boat North to the Grand Palace to see what the hoopla was about. This is probably the single biggest tourist hotspot, and the locals know it. We are approached by a friendly man explaining that the Palace is closed until 3pm. He recommends us to a TukTuk driver who drives us around the city to see a number of attractions. First we see the ‘standing Buddha.’ It was cool, but nothing outrageous. I think they just built it because most other Buddhas are depicted in a sitting position. Donation boxes were available.
A man outside was selling birdcages with beautiful little sparrows or something. If you purchase the cage for 100baht and release the birds in the temple you will get good luck for one year. Then the man’s family catches the birds again and sells them to the next sucker. Poor birds. We decide not to perpetuate the recidivism, and would take our chances without the good luck.
We check out a few more temples during our guided TukTuk experience. We had to intermittently act as though we were genuinely shopping in a jewelry store and a couple of suit shops so our driver could get free gas. Transporting hordes of tourists to these locations has great incentive for drivers making ground-level wages. The suit salesmen were pissed that Gianmarco and I live in Shanghai, as suits are cheaper in China. They assured us that the quality was ‘no as good.’
Our ride ends where it started, and we get excited to see the Grand Palace. We pay our driver the equivalent of $1 before scrunching our noses upon realization that the palace was closed. These people just stand outside and direct the unknowing away to ensure their return. No worries. We grab an excellent Thai lunch including prawns and the smallest chicken wings I have ever had.
That evening we went to the Patpong Night Bazaar. About 200 small shops brandish pretty much the same shirts, handbags, shoes, and bracelets. Surrounding them are some of the bars that give Bangkok the reputation that precedes arrival. Smut and sex shows are solicited to anyone looking older than 13. Go Go dancers line the tops of bars and beckon your entrance. Some girls stand outside and literally grab your arms and tug at your will power. Even definite declines are somehow interpreted as acquiescence, and we were left with no other defense but physical refusal.
We find a relatively classy bar and enjoy a few drinks. Emphasis on ‘relatively.’ We grin and ask each other a few times if he really believes that we are in Thailand. After a while, we believe it. The bar manager brings us a laser pointer and tells us to point out which girl we want. Really.
We leave for a disco and play some pool with some local girls. One was really good. I swayed in pitiful attempts to connect with the 8ball. And then I realized that I had to hit the cue ball first. I ask if they are ‘professionals’ and they ensure us that they work together in a hotel. I later find out that they were, in fact, ‘on the clock’. The cab home loses his way and I decided to get out at a street corner. I find my way back unscathed.
We arise the following morning at a decent hour to pack in as much of the city as possible. We take the river taxi even further north this time so see Kho San road. This turns out to be my favorite area as it is comprised of hippie backpackers and friendly shopkeepers. I buy a lock for my locker and a few flag patches to sew onto my backpack. We have brilliant mariscos for lunch and soak up some sun while trying to get lost in the markets and festivities. Gianmarco buys a sweet Om tapestry and I consider cornrows. My hair is definitely long enough for them by now, but it takes 3 hours and I can’t deal with that kind of commitment right now.
We buy some comfortable canvas clothing and take a cab to Chinatown. I’m excited to use some mandarin, but the opportunity never really arises. We buy some fresh pineapple and find a sweet spot for photos over the river. Far from the tourist epicenter, we draw stares and smile back. Hailing a cab is difficult in these parts, so we are forced to wander a while before finding one.
We eat dinner adjacent to a rainbow club called “Dicks” and I think it was Gianmarco who asked if Matt and I thought it was actually a gay joint. We laugh.
I want to buy a pair yellow Asics from the Bazaar so we return. I haggle as hard as I can and think I got a good deal; for a while he didn’t want to do business with me. I walked away comfortably.
Matt has a concerned look on his face when he and Gianmarco find me again. Gianmarco had apparently been haggling a little too hard and was threatened with evil spirits. I think she told him: “You wake up tomorrow and you dead!”
Evidently, the 5 baht argument, once succumbed to, was ameliorated as she motioned to grab the cash. Gianmarco then raises his arm and demands an apology before handing over her asserted amount. I heard something like “soddy” mixed in with a muttering of street Thai, and Gianmarco grabbed his tees.
Matty Matt returns home to crash out, so the Guice and I prowl. Tiger beers are bought at the cleanest of places. The perimeters of these bars are lined with booths and paired tables such that everyone inside is facing the center. They are cookie-cutter; some only differentiate their name by adding a 2, or 3, or 4 after oft used names: King’s Corner IV, Queen’s Castle 3, Super Pussy 2.
Guice snaps a few discreet CoolPix and we decide to walk around. I feel a little wild and mention something about getting into vice. So we do…
I had heard enough stories and had been tugged at by enough people to have built up a curious image of the so-called ‘pingpong show.’ Four of our UK roommates, all of whom female, had seen one the night before and were shocked that we hadn’t already indulged in the likes. It was hardly an indulgence.
The show was vile. The most morally reprehensible thing I have ever seen in my life. After being a target for halves of bananas, returning ping pong balls with a real paddle, and something to do with blowdarts, we had had enough. I thought it would be something erotic- not in the slightest. Just, gross. It was kind of like an obscene horror movie which you peer through your fingers to see. A discrepancy then arose about the difference between ‘three’ beers and ‘free’ beers. We were, once again, wished upon death before leaving.
To avoid nightmares, we enjoyed some Long Islands at an outdoor bar and regained an understanding of what normal people look like. Actually, it was more like a ‘sad dad’ marathon. White, swanky sixty-somethings paraded around their 20ish-year-old Thai ‘girlfriends.’ Relationships blatantly based on love. Or sex and money. Undignified personae were shown through contrived veneers. Open-shirt types boasted with shoulders held back- until one would take notice of the people not paying for arm candy, and sigh in attempt to exhale the humiliation. Eyes averted, he would tell himself it doesn’t matter, and take another drink before planting a wet one on his investment’s lips. We took turns guessing who was a ladyboy, and discussed the value of youth before walking back to the hostel.
On our last day in Bangkok, we once again returned to the river taxi and took it to the Grand Palace. The same stop, same crowds, and same people outside turning away the unknowing. We nod through them and enter the gates.
Purple pants are rented to show respect for the King’s temple. Not by the fact that they were purple, but persons wearing shorts are not permitted entry. I looked like an LA Laker with my yellow shoes appearing only in stride, below the billowing parachute pants.
The temple is AWESOME. Huge statues of Arhats and fantastic creatures overlook the golden-thatched roofs and tiled paths. A scaled version of the famous Angkor Wat in Cambodia is chiseled out of stone and lays in the shade adjacent to the main house of prayer. Cameras incessantly click. Crisp colors show vibrantly from artwork dating more than 300 years. Some buildings appeared to be constructed out of gold. All are at least plated with it.
We take off our shoes and pay homage to the Buddha. Sacred water is dripped atop our foreheads by use of a lily. After entering, care is taken to avoid sitting such that our feet face the venerated statue. I sneak a flashless photograph, as cameras are prohibited, but the allure was overwhelming.
Silent nods signal enough prayer, and we return outside. Within a matter of 60 seconds, our first Thai downpour is experienced. Caught without umbrellas, we briefly embrace the wetness as an escape from the heat, but quickly realize that is not really convenient. We run under another roof and are dripping soaked by the time we get there. We laugh and hail a cab.
Gianmarco buys a camera at the mall to replace the one we think had been swiped from his pocket the night before. After going just 6 hours without taking pictures, we conclude that 3 and a half weeks of traveling one of the coolest countries of the world will require a camera. His investment was quickly proven worthy.
Repacking our backpacks takes less than 5 minutes and we are headed to the airport. Jumping a mere puddle, we are Koh Samui bound.
For more stories of my initial days in bangkok, visit our website at www.talkbangkok.com
There was a time, and not all that long ago, when the taxi ride from Suvarnabhumi would have me tingling in anticipation of what was to come. Thoughts of immersing myself in hedonistic adventures of the known, and unknown, creating a heightened sense of excitement as the driver sped down the motorway towards the fleshpots of Sukhumvit. As I sat there looking out at the drab concrete, and blur of lights, in the early evening traffic congestion of Thong Lor, I could only reflect on the fact that things change. Times change. People change. What I once found to be exciting no longer was. In recent times I’d come to the profound realization that all the money I’d spent on involving myself in the P4P industry, in the LOS, was done primarily because I was bored. Going out to the P4P areas was a way of beating that boredom. Getting blasted was a way of beating that boredom. Picking up, or bar-fining, a demoiselle of the night and taking her back to my apartment was a way of beating that boredom. And, at the time, it did have an element of excitement about it; it did help to alleviate the boredom. The thing is though that eventually one gets to a point where there just seems to be no point to it. It’s like ground hog day; you’re making the same moves all the time but not really going anywhere. It’s like running up and down on the spot and emptying money out of your pockets. One day the light came on; running up and down on the spot, and emptying money out of one’s pockets, doesn’t take you anywhere. It’s a waste of time and it hardly offers any kind of life motivating challenges. It is, by its very nature, the definition of a boring life; 2030: take the sky train down to Nana then walk to NEP; 2100: enter Rainbow Four and get a seat next to the dance podium on the left (as you enter) because that’s got hotter selection of babes; 2110: drink in hand; 2130: number seventy two sitting in my lap; 2140: number seventy has her first lady drink; 2200: bar fine paid for number seventy two; 2230: departing rainbow 4 with number seventy two; 2300: back at my apartment with number seventy two; 0030: business completed and number seventy two out the door with her two thousand baht. Note; getting low on condoms and need a restock of KY gel. Ho hum, what’s on the movie channel tonight?
There was also a time when I was full on into outdoor/adventure pursuits; activities that actually offered a real challenge in life. Surfing big waves, in Indonesia, and scuba diving in caves were at the forefront of those pursuits. After my trip to Laos my enthusiasm for outdoor/adventure type activities had been rekindled. Even something as simple as hiking up a cliff face, and breathing good clean air, was something to look forward to. I was back in Bangkok though and the boring was everywhere I looked. Perhaps a decent meal and a glass of red wine would be in order? A couple of hours later I was down at a trendy new wine bar, on Soi Eleven, ordering a glass of my favourite Ozzie red and a tuna pizza. I looked around to find there were some familiar faces scattered along the bar. It was all looking a tad boring again. A number of demoiselles of the night had moved in and made the place their new operations base. Night after night you could watch them hugging the same corner of the bar and going through the same little routines. One, in particular, had been labeled a parasite by a good mate of mine.
“She’s in there every night. She polishes of one bottle of red and then milks guys for drinks for the rest of the evening. She’s a parasite.”
Being a bit of a people watcher, and having been in the bar on reasonably regular basis myself, I had to agree with his assessment. As I looked over in her direction she turned and gave me one of those practiced, artificial smiles that are about as sincere as my ex telling me “I love you for one thousand year.”
I found myself thinking “is that it; getting plastered every night and hugging the same corner of a bar. Is that the sum of your pointless, useless world?” I finished my pizza and left. As I wandered back down Soi Eleven I knew I it wouldn’t be too long before I was heading out of Bangkok on another adventure again. I just wasn’t quite sure where that would be. A couple of nights later I had my answer. I was having dinner with a buddy, who resides in the same condo building as me, and regaling him of my trip to Laos when he gave me a cue for my next trip.
“There are some good caves down in Hua Hin that you might want to have a look at,” said my buddy.
“You’ve got me interested.”
“Well a mate of mine, who’s been living down there for twenty years, does tours to some caves we stumbled on years ago.”
“Yeah. Me, my buddy, and his girlfriend went up to a remote temple to see one of the monks and we noticed the entrance of a cave nearby. The monks told us that, up until that time, no farang had ever entered there. They said we could go in for a look around and provided us with some large candles and a guide. As we were moving towards the cave entrance one monk told us to watch out for the serpent.”
“The serpent?” I said looking at him dubiously.
“Well, it wasn’t really a serpent. More like a cave viper that lived on the bats inside the cave.”
“How big was it?” I said becoming more interested.
“It was about three to four meters long although, when we first went in, we were all crapping ourselves because we’d been told the thing was over five meters long.”
“So you saw it?”
“Yeah, and it was purely by chance. We spotted it sitting on a ledge, just above my head, as we were having a look at some formations.”
“What did it look like?”
“Well it was a tan, white colour from being in the cave all the time. Even though it was curled up, and asleep, we could see it was a reasonable size by the thickness of its girth.”
“It looks as though a trip down to Hua Hin might be in order in the next couple of days then. Can you contact your buddy and see if he has time available to take me up to the caves?” I said with growing enthusiasm.
“No problems and, you know what; I think I might join you as well.”
A couple of days later, with all arrangements sorted, we were boarding the train at Hualumphong Station for the run down to Hua Hin. Four hours after departing from Bangkok we were disembarking, at the Hua Hin station, and on our way to the hotel my buddy had pre-booked. The Subhamitra is an older Thai hotel and no more than seven minutes walk from the Station. At 900 THB per night the room rates are very reasonable for a hotel which is located right in the center of town. The daily rate includes free wifi use but not breakfast.
After getting settled in we wandered down to the beach front area to see Jim, our guide for the trip to the caves. Jim has a restaurant down on the sea front road which serves up great Thai food and ice cold beer. He also has a very interesting tale, or two, to tell about his life adventures over the past thirty five years in this part of the world. Originally from Canada Jim, or Jim Currie to be more precise, spent a number of years, during his early twenties, hanging out in Kathmandu and developing a fondness for Buddhism. It was a fondness that saw him eventually move to Thailand, during the mid 1980’s, and he’s been here ever since. We made our introductions and Jim kicked things off by talking about his involvement with Buddhism.
“I got interested in Buddhism when I was living up in Kathmandu. I got to know some of the holy men and started studying some of the Buddhist books that I was able to get a hold of,” said Jim as he pulled out a pile of A4 size laminated photos to back up his tale.
More recently Jim got involved in a fairly unique project; he had a number of large bronze Buddha’s cast, at a foundry in Bangkok, and then shipped them over to Canada.
“Yeah, that was a few years ago and it was a hell of an adventure. The Buddha’s were close to nine feet in height and weighed 900 kilo’s each. They cost me fifteen hundred bucks a piece to cast and I shipped them back to Canada in a container. A lot of guys don’t believe it when I start telling people this story so I gotta show them this magazine article about it,” he said as he handed me the magazine.
I had to admit I was impressed.
“It was pretty funny because I put the Buddha’s on the back of a pick-up and drove them down to L.A., with the intention of selling them. To make it more realistic I dressed myself in monk’s robes and shaved my head. As we were working our way down from Canada I’d get in touch with local radio stations, in the US, and tell them it was Buddha’s birthday and there were a couple of huge Buddha’s in the local parks if people wanted to come down and see them. Quite a few practicing Buddhists turned up. Anyway, we eventually got to L.A., and a number of actors got interested in buying them. I met Mel Gibson purely by chance. I was driving around in L.A., with the Buddha’s on the back, and he saw me and flagged me over. Anyway, we had a bit of a chat about Buddhism and then he drove off. I also met Steve Martin who actually thought that it was some kind of candid camera hoax. Eventually he came round to realizing that I really was a guy from Canada with two Buddha’s for sale.”
“Did you end up selling them?” I said enjoying the amazing tale.
“Yeah, I ended up selling them to Steven Seagal. He’s a practicing Buddhist. I had to deliver them to his ranch up in Montana,” he said as he showed me the photos of the Buddha’s in place at Seagal’s home.
Jim showed me a few more photos of his L.A., adventure and then we got onto the real reason I was in Hua Hin; the caves.
“There are three caves I take people to. All in an area about an hour’s ride up into the mountains. We don’t need to go too early though as we should be able to see them all in an afternoon. Have you got lights?”
I replied in the affirmative and also mentioned that I intended taking a lot of photo’s. We eventually agreed that we’d make the outing in two days time, on Monday, as there would be fewer tourists about to disturb us. For the following day we arranged to do a boat cruise down to the edge of the Sam Roi Yot National Park for a relaxing day of swimming, fishing and getting a tan. Jim is an agent for a beautifully refurbished Thai fishing boat, the Siam Pearl, which does the daily tour to the National Park. The days outing also included a stop at an island, inhabited only by monkeys, for a spot of monkey feeding on the beach.
With that out of the way, Monday couldn’t come quick enough. I was up early in anticipation of our ride up into the ranges behind Hua Hin. Unfortunately my buddy from Bangkok wasn’t able to join me as he’d been called back on urgent business. Jim leant me one of his bikes and at 1100, on the dot, we were on our way towards our first destination; a mausoleum for a preserved dead monk. Jim gave me a bit of background info, on what to expect, the evening before.
“I knew the guy; he was eighty three when he passed away. He must’ve known that he was going to die because he drank a heap of oil, just before he expired, to help with the preservation process. They sealed him in an airtight glass coffin and he’s lying, in state, in a purpose built sanctuary nearby the temple.”
An hour after leaving the hotel we turned off the back country road and onto a dirt track leading up to a temple situated within a forest on the side of a hill. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect and, if anything, I had some strange idea that I’d be looking at something akin to an Egyptian mummy. When I stepped into the mausoleum I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong. Contained within the sealed glass coffin was a perfectly preserved dead body. Expectations of seeing bandage wrapped cadavers were quickly dispelled as I stood staring at a skeleton with the skin still intact. To either side of the coffin were glass display cases with the deceased’s last personal artifacts.
The preseved dead monk at rest in the mausoleum
“You see that small plastic vial,” said Jim pointing to the middle shelf of the display cabinet to the left.
“Yep, “I said moving in for a closer look.
“That’s full of his hair and nail clippings. They keep growing from the dead cells and the other monks have to trim it off from time to time,” said Jim with a bit of a morbid chuckle.
“Rather them than me,” I replied thinking that it probably wouldn’t be a job to get excited about.
I spent a few more minutes working the camera and then left the preserved monk to his lonely vigil.
“Where to next?” I said as we moved towards our bikes.
“Dao (star) Cave. It’s just a few minutes back down the road,” replied Jim.
Fifteen minutes later we were parking our bikes near a sign proclaiming we were indeed at Dao Cave. Just to the right, of the sign, was a flight of stairs leading up to the cave’s entrance. As we began working our way up the steps, Jim started giving me some background info on the cave and what I could expect.
“When I first started coming here, fifteen years ago, none of this was here. It was a just a rough, rock trail and fairly hard going in some places. It’s now much easier to get up to the entrance but the two hundred, or so, steps still gets the heart rate going,” he said as we both began to breathe a bit harder.
“Any Buddha’s in the cave?” I said knowing that there almost certainly would be.
“Yeah, there are two in the fairly large entry chamber.”
‘What’s the deal with Buddha statues in Caves in this part of the world?” I said hoping he could solve something that’s puzzled me for a while.
“Oh, it’s just that the Thais, and probably the Lao as well, believe that caves are full of dead spirits so they place Buddha images in there for protection against them,” replied Jim as a matter of fact.
“Hmmm, okay. Are we going to see any serpents?” I said feeling a bit more enthusiasm for that rather than dead spirits.
“Years ago it would be definitely on the cards but not very likely now as the entrance has a mesh gate over it which has stopped the bats from getting in. If there are no bats then there’s no food supply for the cave vipers and they move away,” said Jim as we finally got to the top of the stairs.
The entry chamber into Dao (Star) Cave
We arrived at the entrance to find that it was, as Jim stated, covered by mesh. We passed through the small gate and stepped into a large, well lit entry chamber. As expected, there were Buddha statues situated within. One was in an alcove directly in front, as you entered the chamber, and another was situated on the left wall. Both were around three meters in height. We spent a few minutes checking out the entry chamber and then, with Jim leading the way, began to work our way through the labyrinth of tunnels and smaller chambers. The cave was well lit with well placed fluorescents highlighting the more interesting features and formations. Jim, with the expertise gained from many visits, provided additional information, and anecdotes, as we moved through the cave system. We worked our way down a ladder into a well lit passage that looked almost like a man made corridor. There was a large hole, with a log across it, just forward of the foot of the ladder.
“I’ve seen the cave viper in there a couple of times. I’m fairly certain it connects with Lap Lae Cave and it allows the viper to move between the two, looking for bats,” said Jim as we skirted the hole.
As we moved past I peered in hoping that I’d see the eyes of the serpent looking back at me. The hole was black and empty so perhaps Jim was right? With a lack of bats the viper had moved on to another location where it could find something to eat. We stopped for a while and I shone my torch up at the ceiling noticing thousands of little black spots.
“What are all those black marks on the cave ceiling?” I said as Jim shone his flashlight upwards as well.
“Those were the places where the bats used to attach themselves. As you can see there are thousands of them but no bats,” said Jim reinforcing the idea why we weren’t likely to see the serpent.
We pushed on into other chambers, where there was natural light coming through from holes in the ceiling, and climbed up to the dead end of one to find a rattan mat sitting there.
“Probably belongs to one of the monks back at the temple. They quite often come in here to meditate,” said Jim as though reading my thoughts.
Within a few more minutes we’d been down all the interesting little twists and turns, that Dao Cave has to offer, and were back at the entrance chamber. I banged off a few more shots and then we exited the cave. As we began heading down the stairway, towards our bikes, Jim revealed his thinking for the rest of the afternoons outing.
“I think we’ll head over to Kai Lone Cave next, the one where the King spent some time as a monk, because there’s a large hole in the entry chamber which allows in the midday sunlight and creates a dramatic effect. Hopefully we won’t be too late,” he said looking at his watch.
Fifteen minutes later we were pulling up in the parking area of Kai Lone Cave and looking at a sign proclaiming as much.
“This cave, apparently, got its name from a farmer whose chicken fell through a hole at the top of the cave,” said Jim as we started the climb up the stairway to the entrance.
“This cave has the longest flight of stairs, up to the entrance, out of the three caves we’ll go to today. If you don’t mind we’ll stop for a rest halfway up,” said Jim as we both started breathing harder.
“You see those marks on the edge of the steps there,” said Jim as we stopped for our time out.
“Yep,” I replied noticing indents on the edge of each step.
“When the viewing platform, at the top of this stairway, was being built there was fifty army guys camped here for nearly a month hauling an electric generator, the size of a Volkswagen, up these steps. Each day they’d push, shove and haul that damn thing a few feet at a time until they finally got it up to the top, “ he said shaking his head at the thought of the effort involved.
“Impressive. Why would they be doing that though?” I said as we began to ascend the stairs again.
“Well HRH the Queen provides a lot of support for this temple. Most of everything you see here was funded by her. I guess the army was under instruction to help out.”
A few minutes later we were standing in the viewing platform and looking out over the magnificent vista back towards the coast. The effort of those army guys was most appreciated as we enjoyed the shade provided by the roof on the well constructed building. As the wind, coming through the open sides, cooled us down we were joined by a monk from the temple below. Jim offered the monk a cigarette, and they began conversing in Thai, while I refilled my water bottle at a nearby rainwater tank.
After another cigarette, and Jim explaining he’d been in the area for twenty years, the monk decided to join us for our entry into Kai Lone Cave. There was no mesh gate and, even though we’d arrived a bit too late for the dramatic effect of the sun penetrating through the hole in the cave roof, the entry chamber was an impressive first sight. The formations, within, were big and the monks had done a great job placing a number of Buddha statues throughout the large amphitheatre. As I stood there banging off shots our accompanying monk moved past us and walked down to the seating area in front of the Buddha statues. Jim pointed up towards the hole in the cave roof and noted that we’d arrived a bit too late to see the sun light penetrating the chamber.
The entry chamber at Kai Lone Cave
“We needed to be here around midday, when the sun is directly over head, to see the place lit up,” he said looking at his watch and commenting that it was just after two pm.
“No problems, it’s still an impressive sight,” I said moving in to have a closer look at an array of small Buddha statues just in behind the seating area.
“A couple of those are four to five hundred years old,” said Jim as he began lighting up a bunched handful of incense sticks and placing them in earthenware pots in front of the Buddha statues.
To add to the mood of the moment the monk sat down and began chanting. Jim indicated that we should move off, to another part of the cave, and leave him in peace. He’d already mentioned something about this being the temple where HM the King had spent some time as a monk. Apparently one of the smaller chambers was his room and I was keen to get a few shots. As it turned out there were actually two side chambers with beds in them and Jim provided an amusing anecdote when I remarked as such.
“There’s a bit of a debate going on as to which chamber was actually used by HM the King during his time here as a monk. Some say it’s this one and some say it’s the other,” he said as we began circling back towards the entry chamber.
We arrived at another chamber, which connected with the main entry chamber, and there was a strange, pyramid shaped statue positioned directly below a hole in the ceiling. As we stood there looking at it the only other tourists, to come into the cave that day, entered the chamber as well. It was a couple; a farang on holiday with his Thai girlfriend. While we exchanged a few pleasantries with the Aussie tourist his girlfriend proceeded to light some incense sticks, she’d brought in with her, and place them around the statue.
“You might want to get a couple of shots of this,” said Jim as he clambered up onto a beautifully terraced formation that forms part of the wall of the chamber.
Jim on the terraced formations
After getting a few more shots I decided I’d seen enough and we exited the cave. We made our way down the long flight of stairs and wandered over to a building which was part of the temple complex. Inside there were paintings of HR the King during his time as a monk. Jim looked at his watch and noted that we should push onto the last cave. We clambered back on our bikes and fifteen minutes later, after a ride up into a more remote area in the mountains, we arrived at Lap Lae Cave.
“I left this one till last,” said Jim as we walked towards the main building of the temple complex.
“Any particular reasons why?” I said as we looked over the gate into the deserted building.
“Besides the fact that I think this is the best cave, I’ve also got quite a bit of personal involvement with this site. When I first came up here, fifteen years ago, none of this was here. Most of the structures you see around us were built from the money received from the tourists I brought up here,” said Jim as a monk appeared before us in the open sided building.
The monk gestured for us to come in. We removed our shoes, opened the gate, and walked across the tiled floor to get a closer look at the Buddha statue. Jim said something to the monk and then went into a small room at one end of the building. A few seconds later he poked his head back out through the curtain and gestured for me to join him.
“You might want to get a couple shots of this but be warned it’s not for the faint hearted, “he said as I moved towards him.
“Why do say that?” I said not quite knowing what to expect.
Jim held the curtain aside to reveal a rather grotesque sight; in a fungal encrusted glass case was a semi decomposed body.
Jim’s friend in a sad state
“It’s pretty sad to see this,” said Jim shaking his head.
“No doubt,” I said as I positioned myself to get a couple of shots.
“I knew this guy for ten years and we were good friends. When I first came up here, fifteen years ago, he’d been living in the cave, we’re about to go into, for twenty eight years.”
“Continuously?” I said incredulously.
“Pretty much. He’d come out occasionally but most of the time he stayed in there and people would take in food for him. When I met him he was almost finished with his time in the cave due to health problems caused by the high humidity in the caves’ atmosphere. Over the years, that we knew each other, he would sometimes walk down to my restaurant in Hua Hin to say hello.”
“That’s quite a hike,” I said as I we took our leave from the somber scene.
“Yeah, it usually took him a couple of days,” said Jim as we moved back out into the main building area and made a donation to the Wat.
“He was eighty two when he died. He wanted to be preserved the same as the other guy we went to see but, unfortunately, the glass coffin they used didn’t seal very well and he’s decomposing.”
“Well, it definitely doesn’t look to be the same quality as the one the other guy is in,” I said as we put our shoes on in preparation for the walk up to the cave entrance.
“No, more like a large, upside down fish tank than anything else. He’s in a bad state and there’s now a bit of a dispute as to what the monks should do with him. Some want to cremate him and others are objecting because the guy’s last wish was that he be preserved. It’s a mess,” said Jim as we took the short walk up the hill, behind the building, to arrive at the cave.
My first impression was that it looked gloomy and I could see that this cave was definitely less set up for sightseers; there wasn’t much in the way of internal lighting. The entry chamber, compared with the two previous caves we’d visited, was smaller and dropped down, steeply, into dark passages below. I looked across the chamber and, directly in front of us, there was a small, wooden blue door with some Thai writing on it.
“What’s that for?” I said indicating across the chamber.
“It’s a door to a small passageway leading to a meditation chamber up there,” said Jim as he pointed to a small chamber up in the roof of the cave.
“Have you been up there?”
“Only once and it’s pretty hazardous. The monk wouldn’t let me go up there while he was alive. After he died I ripped the lock off the door and took a look see. There’s a narrow passage that goes off to the right. You’ve got to squeeze through on your belly and crawl up for a few feet before you can stand up. Go up and have a look for yourself. Be careful though because there’s a vertical drop straight ahead as you open the door. The access passage angles upwards to the right,” said Jim as we made our way down to the wooden ladder leading up to the door.
I moved up the wooden steps carefully, testing the strength of each, as I got closer to the door. Thinking the door might be seized I yanked at it, forcefully, only to find that it swung open with little resistance. The ladder creaked with my over exuberance and the open door revealed a sheer drop, directly ahead, into a black void. To my right was the narrow passage angling upwards. I didn’t see much point in trying to squeeze my way up there so I closed the door and moved back down the ladder.
“Just be careful climbing down. This ladders been here for a while and may not be all that sturdy,” said Jim as I negotiated my way back down.
As if having some kind of premonition, regarding what was about to occur next, I stepped onto the bottom rung and there was a loud crack, as it parted, and my foot went straight through. Luckily my years of experience in moving down ladders on sea going vessels came to the fore; I had a firm grip on both vertical sides of the ladder and quickly arrested my descent.
“I guess you were right about the age of the ladder,” I said as I stepped back onto solid ground.
“No shit. That was a close call,” said Jim shaking his head and having a bit of a chuckle.
“What’s down there?” I said indicating towards the hole that I might have fallen into.
“Three dead bodies,” said Jim as a matter of fact.
“Aye?” I said looking back at him a little incredulously again.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of bats in here and the place is feet deep in guano – bat shit – and it’s one of the best fertilisers known to man. The locals used to come in here all the time, dig it up, and carry it out in bags. The three bodies down there are guano collectors that didn’t make it back out. They crawled into a back chamber, in there, and suffocated. I had personal experience of it a few years back when I took an Aussie adventurer down there to have a look. There’s a lack of oxygen in the atmoshere and I blacked out as I was half way up a narrow passage on my stomach. Luckily the Aussie guy was switched on to what was happening and he dragged me out by my feet.”
“Okay, I think we’ll give that one a miss until we’ve got breathing apparatus,” I said as Jim lead off down a passage to the right.
As we moved into a dimly lit larger, inner chamber Jim pointed to one of the smaller side chambers leading off to our left.
“You see the depression in the floor there?” he said as I looked towards the spot he was pointing to.
“That’s where the locals have been digging up the guano. There’s a three foot deep hole in the floor. All this area we’re walking on is piled high with millions of years of batshit,” he said as I got down to take a closer look at the smooth, brown surface we were walking across.
There was no doubting what he said as the place had a strange, musty odour about it. As we kept moving forward into the center of the chamber the squeaking, of the bats hanging above us, got louder. Eventually I was standing right underneath their lair and as I got ready to take a few shots Jim gave me a friendly word of warning.
“You’d better get that done and get out of there quickly. If they get agitated they night start raining guano down on you.”
I fired off a couple of quick shots and then followed him into the next chamber – the chamber of the Sleeping Lady – and was amazed to see a rock formation looking remarkably like a woman lying asleep on her side.
“Lap Lae translates to sleeping lady. The first time I came in here I was told, by the monks, about the curse of the sleeping lady. Any man who laid eyes on the sleeping lady would never emerge from the cave again. It’s superstition but it’s great for adding a bit of atmosphere to the walk through the cave,” said Jim as I took a closer look at the sleeping lady.
“Nothing like a bit of superstition to spice up a cave tour,” I said continuing to work the camera.
“Well, the next chamber we’re going to should spice things up even more,” said Jim with another chuckle.
The sleeping lady formation
“We’re going to the serpent’s lair.”
“Great, lead the way,” I said suddenly losing interest in the Sleeping Lady.
We continued on down a narrow tunnel and then descended some cement steps. Jim led me into a small, dead end chamber to the left of the stairs.
“The viper usually has himself coiled up on that ledge there. If you follow it, to the left, it goes into a hole in the wall. That’s its home. As I said, when you go looking for it you never find it. When you’re not looking for it, that’s when you usually bump into. I came in here with a bunch of people one day to find its home vacated. As we stood there looking at the ledge I glanced up towards the cave roof and the damn thing was a couple of feet above us, gripped onto those rough bits of rock protruding out, and staring down at us.”
“What did you do then?”
“We just moved back out of the way and gave it some space.”
I took a last look around the serpent’s lair, hoping like hell I’d see it coiled up somewhere, and then moved into the cave proper again. We moved a few meters on and stopped at some large boulders sitting on the cave floor.
“I chased the serpent around these rocks one day, when I had a group in here with me, and cornered it over here,” he said pointing to small alcove.
“Was that a good idea?”
“I don’t know but it made for some great photography. We got a shot of the thing reared up with its mouth wide open and tongue flicking about.”
“That would be a great shot,” I said slightly disappointed that I hadn’t been able to bag the serpent.
“There was another time I’d seen it, with a tour group, and had to come back into the cave later, by myself in the pitch black, to look for a pair of glasses one of the group had dropped,” said Jim shaking his head.
“What the hell was that about?”
“One of the group, an accountant, lost his reading glasses in the cave and only realized it when we arrived back at his hotel. He made a bit of an issue about it saying that he needed them to read his emails in the morning. The funny thing was that I’d actually picked them up while we were still in the cave. They were sitting on an old pair of sneakers and I just left them there. When I came back the torch crapped out and I had come in here working my way around by touch. I knew where I had to go but I was pretty nervous because we’d seen the viper during the earlier run through. In the end I found the glasses sitting right where I’d left them; on top of the sneakers. I grabbed them and high tailed it out of there.”
We were beginning to work our way to the rear exit of the cave and, in doing so, came to a section which only had a meter of clearance between the ceiling and the floor. After doing a duck walk through the ten meter stretch we were both dripping with sweat from the humidity in the cave. We were now in the last chamber before the exit. Up ahead I could see the faint glow of light at the top of a rocky incline we would need to negotiate before exiting. At the bottom of the incline was a beautiful floor to ceiling formation and another, which had broken away from the ceiling, lying nearby on the cave floor. It seemed appropriate that this would probably be my last couple of shots before departing the cave. In some kind of weird twilight zone twist I got my final two shots off before the camera battery went dead. It had been a reasonably physical few hours and, with the muscles beginning to feel the effects of fatigue setting in, I decided to call it a day. Feeling sore, but satisfied, we trudged up the rock strewn slope to emerge into the late afternoon sunlight. I was soaked in sweat, and covered in mud and dirt, but it had been a great afternoon.
“Thanks Jim, I really enjoyed that,” I said as we stood there drying off in the cooling breeze.
“You’re welcome, anytime. Next time you’re back in town we’ll do another cave that’s not too far from here. It’s got no lighting at all and it’s full of bats and snakes,” said Jim giving a wry grin.
“Sounds good, I might be back sooner than you think.”
Formations at the base of the incline to the exit point of Lap Lae Cave
I’d spent the better part of four hours having a look at three different caves. All in all it had been a very satisfying day out and one that I’d highly recommend if you’re looking for something a bit different to do besides lying around on a beach or sitting at a bar. For anyone interested in having a look at the caves, or a day out on the ocean to Sam Roi Yot National Park, these are Jim’s contact details:
Mob: +66 (0)811914627
For those interested in reading the full version of the above, which also includes more photos, please follow this link:
Terms and definitions:
Bargirl: A generic term for Thai ladies who are employed at, or provide adult services from, beer bars, go-go bars, G Clubs, karaoke bars, freelancer outlets, hotel coffee shops, discotheques and night clubs. A bar girl can quiet often run through the whole gamut of the above listed work scenarios during her time in the profession. There are full timers and part timers. Some have normal day time jobs but supplement their incomes by hanging out at freelancer venues, and night clubs, in the evenings and on weekends. The less educated ones – those whose English language skills are basic – tend to stick to the beer bars and go-go bars while those with better language skills tend to move into the freelancer venues.
Bimbo: A hotter looking bargirl – normally from a go-go bar – who’s struck it rich by bagging a wealthy sponsor. A bimbo is a paid, or kept, piece of fluff that generally does nothing except spend the money she receives every month from her sponsor. Bimbo’s are bordering on being completely useless and are only on the payroll, of the rich sponsor, for their sexual skills and appearance. They, quite often, are seen hanging out at night clubs, buying drinks for their gaggle of useless mates, and eyeing up young farangs for a horizontal liaison. Bimbo’s are often bitches and bitches, more often than not, want to be bimbo’s. The common thing linking them is laziness.
Bitches: Can be found right across the full spectrum of adult services industry. Generally, a bitch is a hotter looking bargirl/freelancer/go-go dancer that develops an attitude because of her popularity. Bitches are normally recognizable by their slim figures, silicone boobs and inflated egos. A bitch can be anything from a go-go dancer to a high end freelancer. Bitches are often bimbos but they can also be an educated hi-so type with their own business or well paid employment.
If a Thai whore tells you that she’ll drive you to the airport, in the morning, politely say thanks but no thanks. That thought keeps pulsing through my grey matter as I’m strapped into the shotgun seat and flying down the toll way, at 150 km an hour, while the said whore weaves in and out of the traffic she’s passing, has one hand on the wheel and is happily engaged in conversation, with one of her whore mates, on her Iphone. Dear Buddha, if I actually make it to the departure hall, in one piece, I promise I’ll change my hedonistic ways. The whore is angry; I gave her a roasting because she took forever dragging her lazy butt out of my bed and then wasted another twenty five minutes driving up and down Sukhumvit Road before deciding to throw a u-turn, somewhere near the Ekamai BTS platform, and drive all the way back down to the toll way on-ramp just past Soi four. She’s lost face, for being told off, and was now out to show me that she knows what she’s about. That, of course, she doesn’t really need to prove; she’s got some serious income streams from a string of sponsors around the world. Hearing a whore boasting about the money she’s receiving from a bunch of mug punters overseas, who she doesn’t even like, becomes tiresome after a while. And the phone calls she receives, while lying in my bed, make the whole situation even more of a tragic farce; “Yes teerak, I at home now. I not work bar. Yes, I miss you so much as well.” One tires of this charade, quickly. The spark of lust soon gives way to boredom and, eventually, contempt; on both sides perhaps? The curt dismissal, on our arrival at the airport, certainly reinforces that observation. I juxtapose the frosty farewell, I’ve just been given, with the little scene I experienced with her the second time I bar fined her out of Rainbow Three; in the glow of the morning after she told me that she wanted to be my girlfriend. The tears started to flow when I laughed and said I didn’t do girlfriends from go-go bars any more. But, give them their due, they are great little actresses. I grab my bags, head towards the check in counter and laugh as the whore blasts off down the road; at least I won’t miss my flight to work. Maybe the roasting did the trick after all.
Another three weeks of merriment and mayhem in the City of Angels. Another few notches on the belt and a further hardening of the cynics mind. A relationship is not on the agenda but something’s gotta give. Still, it’s seems such an easy thing to do; go to a freelancer venue, pick up a whore, shag them senseless and then pay them off in the morning. The money seems to be a bit of a waste sometimes but the saving grace is that it’s like a barrier, or a wall; it keeps them at arm’s length. As if to say “thanks for your time, there’s your fee for your services, don’t read anything else into this, goodbye.” The nonsense of all their trickery and deceit becomes monotonous though. They would like to be good, and decent, but they can’t. They’re in the grip of the big pay days now. The days of a less grasping mindset are a thing of the past. Perhaps I need to take a rain check on that as well. Paying for sex, too often, begins to eat into the hard earned cash reserves. There’s gotta be a better way to go. Thai Love Links appears to be a viable option; I’ll check it out when I get back.
I had good intentions of keeping some self discipline about me during the three weeks off but, in a constant stream of hard bodied Thai lovelies, that altruistic plan evaporated even before I’d touched down. Like some kind of all knowing, all Seeing, Eye the ex has a sixth sense when my time offshore is almost complete. I hadn’t seen, or heard, from her for ten weeks but, like some ESP guided radar, she appeared on a chat box I’d forgotten about. With only two days before I was due back in Bangkok her usual line of BS appeared before my eyes on Skype.
“Teerak, when are you come back?”
“Because I want see you and I never lost my feeling for you.”
“Hmmm, I’m not giving you any money.”
“It’s okay, I not want. My boy friend take care of me very good now.”
“What do you want?”
“Just sex, when you come back we go for holiday to Pattaya. I will take you in my new car.”
“Yes, my boy friend buy for me two months ago.”
“I see. Let me think about it. I’ll call you when I get to Bangkok.”
Two days later I was in Pattaya pounding the daylights out of her but, like some addict high on the latest designer drug, it was too good to last; very quickly the usual resentments and animosities began to set in. Never, ever believe a gold digging whore when says she doesn’t want any money. Six days later after an all night booze-athon, at one of Bangkok’s late night venues, she was legless on my doorstep at seven am again. After letting her in, and giving her a bucket to vomit into, I went out, turned off the phone (the one reserved for bitches) and stayed away all day. That seemed to do the trick as I haven’t seen, or heard, from her since. I returned to the apartment, as the sun was setting, to find the vomit still in the bucket. As I poured it down the toilet I considered my options for the coming evening. It was Saturday night but there was a bloody election on and that only meant one thing; no alcohol. Well election, or no election, I was going out and Spasso’s seemed to fit the bill.
I got there at about eleven pm and, as I expected, the crowd was well down. I ordered one of those non-alcoholic, look-alike beers and took up a position overlooking the dance floor. As I looked back towards the bar I met the eyes of a tallish bird staring my way and doing her best to entice a reaction out of me with that look they all have. The look, of course, is something I’ve talked about before. From Bangkok to Baku you see it in the eyes of all these working girls. It’s a look that, at first, seems innately inviting. It’s a look that says “I can be whatever you want me to be and I can tell you whatever you want to hear – including hansum man – for a price.” She, or it, was tall, had a face like a hatchet and a body that was too good to be true. That only meant one thing; a katoey. I glanced away quickly. Eventually, I needed to go for a piss and moved towards the choke point formed by that stupid bloody pillar and the bar. As I squeezed through the crowd the katoey grabbed me by the crutch.
“Why you not like me?” she said as we stood there eye ball to eye ball.
“Why do you think I don’t like you?” I said as I looked down at her hands and high heel shod feet.
“Because I smile at you and you not smile back. You are serious guy?”
“Well you’re a Katoey, aren’t you?” I said expecting an uppercut to the jaw.
“Mai chai, I’m a lady. Here, feel my nom,” she said as she guided my hand up to her well endowed cleavage.
It was soft with not a hint of plastic.
“Hmmm, okay. Sorry about that but you are tall,” I said feeling relieved about the situation.
“My name is Pan and I come from Chiang Mai. My mother is Chinese,” she said feeling proud of herself.
“Hmmm, okay,” I said as I continued admiring her fantastic figure.
“You want me tonight Mr. serious man?” she said giving that look.
“Probably but I gotta go to the hong-nam now,” I said as my bladder felt like it was going to bust.
Pan, even at thirty five, was a looker. One hundred and seventy two centimeters in height, no kids and a models figure, she definitely wasn’t the standard look of a working girl one finds in this town. She’d done some modeling, in her early twenties, and had then gone off to Europe seeking fame and fortune. Unfortunately the flesh pots of Amsterdam were where she ended up ‘working’. It showed, she was a total professional in her trade. The emotional strains though, of her profession, were catching up with her; she was beginning to come to terms with her journey down the path of darkness. I spent a few days with her and got used to her parading around my apartment, for hours on end, completely naked while talking about Buddha and the need for her to go to the temple each morning. It was a situation bordering on lunacy and was only to be surpassed by the next situation bordering on lunacy I was to find myself in.
Pan, overcome by her demons, decided to call it quits and headed back to Chiang Mai. Alone again – but not for long – it was Thursday night and that only meant one thing; Q-bar. Q-bar, the hang out for pretentious, wanna-be, high-so whores. I walked in to find Sabina (where the hell do these girls get their names from?) sitting at the bar on the ground floor. Sabina, the borderline nut job that had chased me down the road in her SUV at three thirty am somewhere over near Rachada, a few weeks ago, was looking her usual self; a stuck-up pretentious bitch. Always good for a challenge I sidled up to her and, in a typical kiwi don’t give a fuck attitude said “hi sexy, how’s the car?”
She turned and looked at me with her nose upturned.
“You jai dum,” she said feigning hurt feelings.
“Look, no hard feelings, let me buy you a drink and we can put it behind us,” I said with a smile about as genuine as a guy telling a bird he’s not going to ejaculate into her mouth.
“Vodka Red Bull,” she blurted out almost instantly to the bartender.
That did the trick; four hours later we were in a horizontal position back at my apartment. The next evening I was given an invitation, by Sabina, to attend a friend’s birthday celebration at the Bed Supper Club. I knew what that meant; I was being lined up for a serious drinks bill for Sabina and her entourage of bitch mates. Eleven pm was the allotted appointment time on her short sms. At precisely eleven I sms’d her and said that I wouldn’t be there until twelve and that she should begin without me. A bit after twelve I elbowed my way through the crowd, gathered around the entrance, to find Sabina, and her group of sycophants, taking center stage in the White Bar. They were gathered around a small table full of Grey Goose and Red Bull bottles. Sabina gave me that look that basically says “you’ve been living here too long and you know too much” and then introduced me to her semi plastered gaggle of mates. They were all white skinned, tall, attractive Bangkok ladies. The bitches interrupted their celebrations, just long enough, to give me a cursory glance and then went back to the serious task of pouring another round of drinks. I took a pull on my beer and stood back to watch the circus unfolding around me. Sabina and one of her tall, white skinned mates were putting on a pseudo lesbian routine for the pack of salivating young studs gathered nearby. The young bucks stood by drooling as Sabina, and her mate, entwined themselves around each other, rubbed up against each other and held hands. After a couple of minutes of this they would break away and move towards one of the young studs, allow a touch (from the salivating young guy) and then quickly move back together to resume their cuddling. It was hilarious; the studs were like dogs sniffing after bitches on heat. Thank fuck I’d moved beyond that stage in my life. A few drinks later, as Sabina was off on a toilet run, her best mate, the one that had been engaged in the pseudo lesbian routine with her, sidled up to me and offered herself for two hundred dollars for the night. Once again I reflected on the fact that, among bitches, there are only rivals for a customer’s cash; friendship is in a world of make believe. I looked at her, laughed and told her to piss off. As an aside it seems as though these up-market types, that frequent Q-Bar and the Bed Supper Club, have moved with the economics of our times; their pricing regimes, these days at least, are often quoted in USD. A few days later I was back at Q-bar again and was hit with the USD pricing regime once more; one of the hotter bitches, there that night, quoted me USD four hundred for the night. When I asked her if that was the “price for the week” I got a rather dirty look in return.
Sabina’s mate must have taken offence to what I’d said in reply to her solicited price because, within two minutes of being back from her toilet run, Sabina was prattling on about knowing that I wanted to shag her mate.
“I know you want she tonight,” said Sabina with a childish sulk on her face.
“How do you know that?”
“My friend tell me you say you pay she song roi rian for go with she tonight.”
I looked at her and laughed.
“I’ve had enough of this bloody nonsense. I’m going” I said finishing my beer and turning to go.
“Where you go?” she said realizing the nights’ earnings was about to walk out the door.
“I don’t know, maybe Mix.”
“I take you”
“No thanks, I still remember what happened last time you gave me a ride. I’ll take a taxi,” I said as I left her standing there stunned that some guy could actually walk away from her.
She was one of the most pretentious bitches I’d ever met. She was so far up herself she even had the audacity to tell me that she was number one in her group. Good riddance I thought as I jumped into the taxi and gave him the address of my condo. I turned off the phone and laughed in the knowledge that Sabina and her useless bunch of mates would probably be heading to Bangkok’s newest late night hangout; MIX. I’d been there once and no intention of going again. With two large bars, in the basement of the Intercontinental Hotel, and only one entry/exit point, the place was a bloody fire trap.
The following morning I got a bizarre message from Sabina; “I not stay in BKK for my birthday, I going to temple for one week.”
I started to wonder what it was about these birds and their affection for temples. A few days later I met another freelancer at Spasso’s who proudly told me that she’d just done a week in a temple. I think I’ve got it worked out now and it’s got nothing to do with the idea of trying to make themselves into a better person; it’s simply a detox program. They go and stay in a temple for a few days and sober up through abstention from alcohol. Feeling refreshed, and renewed, they head straight back to the bar, or night club, as soon as they’re back in town.
Having resided in Thailand for the best part of eighteen years and sampled just about every pay for pleasure scenario one can experience, in this fair land, I’ve come to the overwhelming conclusion that not one, of the thousands of girls plying their trade in the industry, would be worth having as a girlfriend. There will be some out there who take exception to this and, no doubt, will probably bombard me with all kinds of reasons why some bargirls might be reasonable relationship material. I’m sorry, but I won’t be convinced; you’ll be wasting your time. Let me explain: the majority of ladies working in the pay for pleasure industry come from a certain well known area of the country. Trawl up and down Sukhumvit, Walking Street and Soi Bangla and you’ll see that ninety five percent of them are from Isarn. There seems to be a certain mindset about these ladies that predisposes them to selling sex for money. Okay, I know poverty and a lack of education have a lot to do with it but, having had so much first had experience with so many of them, I can honestly conclude that most of them, to put it bluntly, are simply bloody lazy. I suppose the thought of toiling in some shitty factory, or on a building site, is motivation enough for them to keep working in a bar but the general attitude, of pretty much all of them, is that doing as little as possible, for a maximum gain, is an ideal way to go through life. For every single one of them it’s the same M.O. – “I need someone take care of me and my family.” Which, loosely translated, means they want a sucker to provide for them, and their families, into perpetuity. For all of them it’s far simpler to find a provider to leach off than to actually try and use their own honest efforts to make their way in this world.
Even the so called good ones, the ones working in normal jobs, have the same brainwashed concept, of providing for their families, bred into them; a foreigner is seen as some kind of economic salvation. A good girl might offer you a level of honesty you would never expect to see with a bargirl but, having said that, you’re still dealing with the same baseline; “I need someone take care me and my family.” I’m beginning see the merit in something a mate of mine told me not too long ago when it comes to interacting with Thai ladies.
“Just use the north of Bangkok rule when you’re looking for a lady to spend a bit of time with.”
“What’s the north of Bangkok rule?”
“If it comes from north of Bangkok, it’s only for fun and not for anything serious.”
Now I know that may be a bit of a harsh way to look at things and I’m sure that there’s probably an abundance of nice, educated ladies up in Chiang Mai who could prove the above assessment incorrect. However, I have yet to see any of them, from a poor rural background that don’t have the idea in their heads that a farang is a fast track to a financial leg up in life. Go onto any of the internet dating sites and what you’ll find is a never ending supply of ladies from the North east, of the country, who’re looking for “a nice man take care of me.” In their world, “take care” is all about someone providing them with financial support. I have joined a couple of sites recently and listed some strict provisos on my profile.
No single mothers.
Financially self supporting.
No unemployed ladies or ladies who don’t have a real job.
Minimum educational level: bachelors’ degree.
Not interested if you live outside Bangkok.
Even so, those from the rural north still keep chipping away. One lady, a mother of two, got quite irate and asked me why I “don’t like lady with children.”
“Does the Thai father of the children provide financial support?”
“No, he gone away.”
“Then why do you think a farang must take care of them?”
Before taking up with one of these ladies that’s looking for “someone take care me and my family” you might want to stop and consider what it is, besides that moist spot between their legs, they bring to the table which will improve your position on this planet. Can they actually help you make money or are they just a one way financial drain on you?
One would think that, once they’ve hooked themselves a financial savior, they might show a bit of humility and be eternally grateful for the fact that you’re improving their poverty ridden, shitty little lives. The Isarn mindset doesn’t see it that way though. It’s almost as though they’ve got some pre-ordained right to relieve you of your cash. Within a short space of time they develop attitude. I guess that comes about through a combination of the face that they gain from being able to show everyone that they’ve dragged themselves out of the gutter and the child’s emotional maturity level that most of them have. The idea that they should be grateful, or show some humility, never enters their heads. A couple of nights later I was in a bar, on Soi Eleven, engaged in conversation with one of Isarns finest.
“My boyfriend buy farm for me. He good man. I going to Norway for three month to stay with him” said the boastful little Isarn strumpet that was standing next to me in Oskars.
“I see and does your boyfriend know you are out at the bars every night looking for man?”
“That not your business. It up to me. I need more money.”
As many old Asia hands have discovered through hard earned experience; sponsorship doesn’t work. And the reason it doesn’t work is because, no matter how much you give, it’s never enough. It turns them into greedy, idle little parasites. Not only that, the parasites back at the village become greedy and idle as well.
“And tell me, why does your boyfriend give you money every month?”
“If he want sexy lady he have to pay me money,” she said with a bitch attitude.
“I see, and you think you are sexy do you?” I said looking at her diminutive, dark skinned figure.
“Of course, a lot of farang want me?”
“And Thai motor bike taxi drivers as well,” I said with a bit of a smirk.
She stared back at me with ice in her eyes.
“I not like Thai man,” she said turning her head away.
“Yeah, well there’s a lot of Thai man that don’t like you as well,” I said.
‘How you know?” she said giving me another nasty look.
“A good Thai man with education and money would never be interested in you. Your level, for a Thai man, is a motor bike taxi driver. But that’s okay, I mean, there’s plenty of farang around willing to pay you for your worn out pussy.”
“Fuck you,” she said giving me the bird.
“No thanks, you aint my type,” I said as I waved the staff over to settle the bill.
As I walked out into the light drizzle I thought about the great secret that they desperately don’t want us to know about. The secret which they do their best to hide and obfuscate by telling us that “they don’t like Thai man” or “Thai man no good.” It’s not that they don’t actually want to be with a Thai man; most of them do. It’s just that they know that no decent, self respecting, educated Thai bloke would touch them. That they know they’re second hand goods and they’re never going to receive some ridiculous, over inflated sin sod, for their stretch marked, child bearing torso, from a Thai bloke. But a farang, well, that’s a different story. Bar girls, bimbos and bitches? Take it from me, they’re only for fun.