Archives for December 2013

Two blocks from my hotel a group of ladyboy hookers congregate on the sidewalk. They’re identifiable by their impossibly pneumatic chests and too-thick wrists. I don’t get the attraction to them, much less the desire to become one. But as I try to imagine their lives, I conclude that they are the bravest people I’ve ever seen.

(Ahead to Bangkok 9)

(Back to Bangkok 7)

Back near my hotel and in need of a rest, I flop into a British pub. I try to settle into my Burdett (which is better than any guidebook) at a bar facing the street, but am interrupted twice by seatmates who want to chat.

The first is Vincent, a Londoner who lives in Bangkok and teaches kindergarten. He is sullen, rude, and very drunk, almost past coherent speech. After a few exchanges I return to my book. A young Thai woman is on the other side of him, flattering him with words and touches. I glance up from the pages in time to see one of her arms amorously encircling his neck while the other reaches carefully into his back pocket. She deftly extracts a few bills from his wallet. He’s too far gone to notice. She looks over his shoulder and sees me watching her. I smile conspiratorially. They leave shortly thereafter.

Second up is Paul, an older Welshman who has settled in Singapore with his Thai wife and is back to visit. He stands me a beer after I sing the Swansea football song, which he is surprised I know. He’s actually interesting to talk to: an expat who has no intention of ever returning to the west. He proudly shows me pictures of his four year old son. Then his mobile rings. It’s his wife. I can’t understand what he says, but I can see it’s not good. He hangs up, shaken. “Everything all right at home?” I ask gently. “No,” he says. “My wife found a bottle of Viagra in my kit bag and wants to know what it’s doing there.” “Uh-oh,” I say. “And it’s stupid, because it wasn’t even mine—I was holding it for a friend,” says Paul. “Even I don’t believe that,” I say. He pays his bill and flees.

(Ahead to Bangkok 8)

(Back to Bangkok 6)

Sukumvit Road is supposed to be one of the longest streets in the world. I doubt that, but it’s long enough to pass through many worlds. My hotel is at the nexus of several of these. It’s located at the edge of the Arab tourist quarter. There are Omani, Persian, Lebanese and Iraqi restaurants. There are hotels with names out of the 1001 Nights. There are many shops with Arabic signage. But most incongruously are the Arab women dressed in full black niqabs, through which only the eyes are visible. Watching one of them pass by a ladyboy prostitute, who is wearing a tight low-cut minidress and high-heeled boots, I wonder what is going through both of their minds. Do they disapprove of each other? Feel threatened by each other? Envy each other? Attempt to blot the other out of their memories?

Another direction out my hotel door leads quickly to an Indian district, where I indulge my major weakness for Indian food. Sikh tailors stand in the doorways to their shops, offering to cut the best suits for me at bargain prices.

The sidewalks are jammed with people and market stalls. T-shirts, beard trimmers, pirated DVDs, sex toys, placemats, realistic replicas of popular guns, jewelry, postcards, Viagra, baby clothes, phony high-end watches, electronic accessories, wooden elephants, cigarette lighters, martial arts paraphernalia, Buddhas, and hijabs are all on offer.

At one corner by the golden arches, Ronald McDonald welcomes the hungry with his palms pressed together in a traditional wai.

(Ahead to Bangkok 6)

(Back to Bangkok 4)

There are a lot of roundeyes here–farangs, in the local parlance. Many are tall and blond. It takes me a whole day to stop being astonished when I see them. I now understand the behavior of the Shenzhen group at the Kunming airport a little better. I hear Scandinavian tongues, German, and Aussie-accented English. And I soon conceive a distaste for my fellow travelers. They’re too tall, too hairy, too fat, too old, too numerous, too rich. Many of the guys have their arms draped over the shoulders of Thai women. I’m no prude; my resentment isn’t rooted in moral scruples. These temporary-girlfriend relationships are mutually exploitive, and so what? No, it’s the aesthetics I object to. Thai women are indeed beautiful, graceful, and sexy. The western men tend toward the lumpy. It’s like seeing a beautiful painting in a cheap and ugly frame.

(Ahead to Bangkok 5)

(Back to Bangkok 3)

First wakeful impression on hitting the streets: familiarity. It’s the opposite of what I expected.

There are the logos: Starbucks, Domino’s Pizza, Dunkin Donuts, Au Bon Pain, Shell, Subway. (I have a surprisingly sentimental reaction to the old Goodyear winged-boot trademark.)

Next comes ethos: comfortable coffee houses, well-stocked bookstores, and restaurants offering cuisine from four continents.

And finally, pathos: amputee beggars pleading for loose change or small bills.

Yeah, it’s almost like being back in the States. In another mindset, I might have been disappointed by that, but after six months in China, I am surprised by how good the familiar feels.

(Ahead to Bangkok 4)

(Back to Bangkok 2)

It’s 3:45 am in Bangkok on December 23. I step out of a taxi and onto the set of Blade Runner. Bar carts, food stands, folding chairs and tiny tables dot the sidewalk. The bars close at midnight or 1:00, but the alcoholic and entrepreneurial spirits remain strong. Neon light illuminates the after-hours couples. Overhead the Skytrain’s concrete hulk makes the street feel more like a cave; it’s almost cozy. “See, I’m making a film . . .” I hear a guy say in an American accent to a doe-eyed Thai girl half his age and size. She leans across the table, if not truly rapt, then doing a damn good job of pretending. I find the modest entrance to the Ever Rich Inn. The night clerk has been expecting me. Five minutes later I lie down on the first real mattress to be under my body in months. I was here:

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(Ahead to Bangkok 3)

(Back to Bangkok 1)