Saying Au Revoir to Koh Tao, Andy and I stepped on to a rust-bucket of a boat ready to get pounded across the Gulf along with the cargo of coconuts. Andy had his best night’s sleep of the journey so far. I wasn’t so fortunate. We docked in Chumphon early the following morning and after a quick brew we were whisked to the bus station on the back of mopeds. Man alive, I’m beginning to enjoy these mopeds. Who needs the thrill of a bungee jump or snake handling when you can ramp it around at 85kph without any helmet, sobriety or training whatsoever!
A few hours later (10 or so) we stepped off the bus into the familiar territory of Bangkok. There’s something satisfying and comforting about returning to a place. You feel like you don’t have to try so hard the second time around; it all comes a little more naturally. We checked in to the guest house where we’d stayed previously (mainly because we both hate searching for accommodation whilst burdened with rucksacks).
Within minutes we were at the travel agency booking our onward leg to Chiang Mai. There’s little point in hanging around Bangkok for too long. Unfortunately the next available train would leave on the evening of the 3rd, giving us 24 hours or so to kill in Bangkok. It doesn’t take a genius to understand what our plans involved. Yes, that’s right. It was time to get drunk and take in a sex show. Awesome.
Before I proceed with this tale of debauchery; I’m sorry Ma. I’ll go to church when I get home. Promise. One thing everybody does when they get to Bangkok is head to Patpong (which coincidentally rhymes with Ping Pong) and if they don’t, they got lost on the way! It’s like going to see the great pyramid when hanging around in Giza, although without that “wonder of the world” feel to it. Not knowing what to expect, and wishing to start slow, we paced the night market down the main road, occasionally glancing to the side at the neon signs baiting the most stupid of white-man fish with bloated wallets into the darkened doorways. Ten minutes passed before one kind fella handed us a flyer detailing the expertise of the dedicated employees of Super Pussy. Not wishing to sound crude, but if your in Rome for a pizza, and there’s a super variety on the menu, then you may as well try the super.
We bit the bullet, walked up the darkened stairs to an even darker show-room and took up residence at the bar/cat-walk. Trying to look casual, I ordered two small Chang beers and got settled in. If only I had heard Andy’s warning of “ask how much they are before you order”. With my wallet now 700 Baht lighter, we sat and slowly drank our beers like they were the most valuable beers in the world, which technically they were. With the stage occupied by a variety of performances which I shell’s describe, the ground troops descended on us in droves, stealing my cowboy hat and grabbing everything they could get their hands on. I’ll never forget Andy’s giggling and contorting whilst shouting “Really. No. NO. NOOOO. Get off forchristsakes!” At this point I was running out of hands with which to guard myself. One hand in the left pocket protecting my camera; one in the right keeping hold of the money which was actually being counted by one thrifty gal. This left my boys open for attack from all sides.
After 10 minutes of dueling and grabbing (and I mean grabbing in the most painful sense) they legged it leaving one sorry looking and very persistent dancer offering services at discounted prices. Having your weasel greased by a prostitute is one thing, but offered to you at 20 baht you have to question the quality of the service you’re about to receive! Despite this once-in-a-life-time offer, we were simply there to tick off one of the been-there-done-that boxes, and that was it. Time to leave me thinks.
We drained the beers and moved on to another bar, which was far more enjoyable because the women were confined to the stage and we didn’t have to hand over one day’s budget for two pathetic beers. We shared a bit of banter with the older woman serving at the bar, and eyeballed the aged perverts skirting the room. Job done. Let’s go home.
I’m not sure how others feel when they visit places like these, but I can say that I felt awful mainly because I found it funny, when it’s far from funny and closer to saddening. These women are exploited whether they claim to enjoy it or not. I feel hypocritical about having taken in the show, but I’m not here to right the world’s wrongs, so I’ll let it go.
