The men that I seek out these days are well over 40, dark, slightly malnourished looking, and drive like grandmas. Gotta watch out for the pretty-looking young ones in their spanking new vehicles. Don’t trust that eagerness as they brave 3 lanes of traffic to arrive at your feet—more often than not, they are scammers who would take you for rides and cheat you of your cash.
My entire Thai vocabulary has been dedicated to making these relationships work. Sometimes/ often there are communication barriers that end up with me chucked out the door and left stranded on a busy street corner. But, once in a while, something clicks and there’s this immediate connection, and I sit back, relax, and dally in that sweet, sweet spot-- at the back of a Bangkok taxicab.
I’ve come to both love and loathe my daily taxi experiences. It is almost always a struggle. Does he* really understand me? Is he going to switch on the meter? Are we going to end up in the middle of a 6-car pile up on the expressway? Will he give me back my change if I gave him a one-hundred baht bill for a 40-baht ride? Cab rides in Bangkok may not always be wonderful experiences, but they almost never fail to fill me with wonder.
The worst ones are from the airport. Even if you're luckly enough to have escaped a 600-baht fare for a 300-baht ride, there’s really little chance of being spared from the 150km/hr ride down the elevated highway. Having probably spent years of their lives stuck in Bangkok’s horrendous traffic, these drivers steer with a vengeance. If you are the least bit sensible, you’d reach for the seatbelt fast, and soon find that there is none**.
The problem is that I probably know my way around the Bangkok Sukhumvit area better than the average Bangkok driver my age. Many of the drivers come from the North-eastern region, and it does appear that some drivers hop off the buss and jump straight into the driver’s seat of a cab. So while they may struggle to take you to, say… the financial district, they should have no trouble delivering you to the Laotian border in no time.
But wait, there are fun times, too. I particularly enjoy the guessing games—am I Malaysian, Korean, Indonesian or Singaporean (funnily enough, no one has ever guessed it on first trial). Some notable encounters include: middle-aged man blasting music by the Grateful Dead at 10am; chatty grandpa who was adamant about learning the population sizes in various Asian countries; driver with a big bulge on the side of his neck (goiter? I was being extraordinarily rude and couldn’t help staring). Despite my best efforts to explain my deficiency in the Thai language, there are still many who insist on turning their heads and talking to me in Thai. Note to self: I should really expand my Thai repertoire to include “eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, please!”
Which brings us back to my appreciation for the older drivers—if anything, their driving prowess is proven by the fact that they are still on the road, alive.
Note:
* taxi drivers in Bangkok are almost always men; although once I had an androgynous looking driver who did not speak a word or make a sound—creepy!
** technically, there are seatbelts in the back… but there’s NEVER a buckle.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Singa-bore no more?
I must be getting older and slightly boring (in the best sense of the word: sufficiently responsible and adequately risk-averse), because I am finally beginning to understand how friends of mine may actually want to work and live in Singapore.
What’s not to like about the place, where the sun always shines (and if the weather is bad, don’t worry. There’re enough temperature-controlled shopping malls and underground passageways that you don’t really need to confront the elements), the streets are immaculate, the food is great, taxi drivers don’t try to rip you off, and no one jay walks. It sounds like the ideal city in which to raise trilingual law-abiding children—you don’t even have to take them to Disney, because Singapore itself is a physical manifestation of a virtual—and a virtuous one at that, reality without an entrance fee. Meticulously planned and aptly implemented, it’s the ultimate gated community, the gate being Changi Airport.
Singapore is picture-perfect. Which I guess is what bugs me the most. It’s probably human nature to be intimidated by perfection, just like we can’t stand or trust people who appear too beautiful. We try to scratch and scratch to find faults with them, because flaws make us human, and having weakness allows us to communicate and connect.
Recently, I went on a short business trip to Singapore. When I wasn’t sitting in my temperature-controlled, all-amenities included office complex looking over Pleasantville, this is what I saw:
- Litter! People do litter, especially at outdoor food courts. Is that why napkins are never provided at hawker food courts, so that people don’t have anything to throw onto the ground? Mind you, almost all litter is picked up by staff with all deliberate speed.
- Despite a social marketing campaign featuring graphic and grotesque cigarette packaging (think red-tinted photos of lesions and cancerous growth), Singaporeans—including youngsters, smoke.
- Grumpy residents. Rude people I encountered included hotel staff, taxi driver and food court woman.
- Other residents of Singapore include cockroaches and mosquitoes. The former fed on my leftovers, the latter fed on me.
- Tattoo parlors that you can trust. Apparently a thriving sector-- I’ve come across no fewer than 3 of them.
- Rampant public display of affection. It’s the equivalent of spitting in mainland China—no matter where you turn, there’s someone doing it. I guess Singapore is so safe, clean and comfortable that there’s really no need to “get a room”.
Ah ha. Perhaps I am being slightly unfair to the Singapore tourism campaign, but my recent visit makes me feel that there’s hope, after all. It’s reassuring to realize that Singapore is inhabited by humans. And that is why I think perhaps one day, even I might be able to work and live in Singapore.
What’s not to like about the place, where the sun always shines (and if the weather is bad, don’t worry. There’re enough temperature-controlled shopping malls and underground passageways that you don’t really need to confront the elements), the streets are immaculate, the food is great, taxi drivers don’t try to rip you off, and no one jay walks. It sounds like the ideal city in which to raise trilingual law-abiding children—you don’t even have to take them to Disney, because Singapore itself is a physical manifestation of a virtual—and a virtuous one at that, reality without an entrance fee. Meticulously planned and aptly implemented, it’s the ultimate gated community, the gate being Changi Airport.
Singapore is picture-perfect. Which I guess is what bugs me the most. It’s probably human nature to be intimidated by perfection, just like we can’t stand or trust people who appear too beautiful. We try to scratch and scratch to find faults with them, because flaws make us human, and having weakness allows us to communicate and connect.
Recently, I went on a short business trip to Singapore. When I wasn’t sitting in my temperature-controlled, all-amenities included office complex looking over Pleasantville, this is what I saw:
- Litter! People do litter, especially at outdoor food courts. Is that why napkins are never provided at hawker food courts, so that people don’t have anything to throw onto the ground? Mind you, almost all litter is picked up by staff with all deliberate speed.
- Despite a social marketing campaign featuring graphic and grotesque cigarette packaging (think red-tinted photos of lesions and cancerous growth), Singaporeans—including youngsters, smoke.
- Grumpy residents. Rude people I encountered included hotel staff, taxi driver and food court woman.
- Other residents of Singapore include cockroaches and mosquitoes. The former fed on my leftovers, the latter fed on me.
- Tattoo parlors that you can trust. Apparently a thriving sector-- I’ve come across no fewer than 3 of them.
- Rampant public display of affection. It’s the equivalent of spitting in mainland China—no matter where you turn, there’s someone doing it. I guess Singapore is so safe, clean and comfortable that there’s really no need to “get a room”.
Ah ha. Perhaps I am being slightly unfair to the Singapore tourism campaign, but my recent visit makes me feel that there’s hope, after all. It’s reassuring to realize that Singapore is inhabited by humans. And that is why I think perhaps one day, even I might be able to work and live in Singapore.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
No Money No Honey
Patpong night market, lined with its go-go bars, ping-pong shows and name brand knock-offs, is a Bangkok tourist cliché. There are ultra-brightly lit stalls that sell everything from combat gear, to remote control Hello Kitty dolls to Lacoste polo shirts in every color imaginable, and there are people everywhere.
It is essentially a theme park. Here you can find most elements that you’d expect from a theme park. The stereotypical balding and beer-gutted sex tourist has long abandoned Patpong for Nana and Soi Cowboy (and certainly other neighbourhoods not mentioned in my guidebook). Instead, the people that pack into the narrow alleys of Patpong are middle-aged couples of just about every nationality, young couples (sometimes with babies in tow), Asian packaged tour groups, and what must be the Japanese equivalent of frat boys. There is a strange mix of ambient music blasting from speakers from all directions. Some people seem to be waiting in line for no apparent reason. There are also men and women everywhere who are eager to show you “menus” of various acrobatic acts involving small and not-so-small objects.
A big difference between here and a more family friendly amusement park, however, is that no one in Patpong seems particularly amused.
Despite any ideological objection one/ I may have to the Patpong shows and everything else along with them, not stepping into one of the bars while you’re already in Patpong would be like not going on any rides when you’re at an amusement park. On this one particular evening, my friend V and I took a stroll around Patpong. We were subsequently followed by a man for over half a mile to offer us 100-Baht beers complete with live entertainment. Succumbing to the man’s persistence and our own curiosity (this was V’s first time in Thailand), we followed him up some very brightly lit stairs (they were pink) to a very dark room with a circular bar, a narrow platform and 4 poles. There were tables around the stage/ bar and most of them were occupied. Once the man seated us at a table, someone else pulled out a drinks menu and reaffirmed that we could have anything on the menu for 100-Baht. We ordered beers. By now there were 4 girls of all shapes and sizes on the stage.
A friend of mine once tried to pin-point what exactly it is that makes something erotic as opposed to pornographic. The thing is, I’m not sure if the shows in Patpong would even classify as pornographic. The ladies on stage were not exactly dancing; they were mainly just having a conversation amongst themselves while holding onto the poles. Strangely, the scene, reminded me of a women’s locker room. For sure the woemn weren’t wearing very much on their bodies-- but they all had intriguing footwear. Two of them were wearing thigh-high boots with killer heels, which I suppose is common practice in that kind of establishment despite the climate that we live in (fungus immediately popped to mind…)? One of them was wearing sneakers—even this I can sort of understand, given that she probably doubled up as a waitress and bartender, and there could be broken glass and all sorts of nasties on the floor of a bar. There was, however, a woman who was completely naked except for the white gym socks on her feet.
Our drinks arrived. I looked around and realized that I wasn’t the only one that was a bit bored and aprehensive. All eyes were fixated on the same stage, but no one looked the least bit engaged. And then a middle-aged Thai woman appeared in front of me and asked me for 1,400 Baht for our two beers. “It was 100 Baht according to the man and the menu”. I realized, the second these words spilled out of my mouth, that we had just become the latest targets of a long-standing scam. The woman went on to tell me all sorts of things, and produced another menu indicating that a beer now cost 300 Baht.
I had no intention of paying anything more than 100 Baht for my beer. The woman got increasingly agitated and by now another equally middle-aged woman emerged. This time, she showed me yet another menu with beers costing 1,000 Baht. I laughed out loud and asked her if it was a joke—but like everyone else in Patpong she wasn’t amused. The haggling continued. And since witches tend to hang out in threes, a third woman was cued in just to complete this story. What these women lacked in logic and English vocabulary was made up for by volume. Witch number 3 was definitely the loudest and looked the most pissed off. V thought she was going to beat me up. She tried to reason that drinks and shows were charged separately-- 300 Baht for the drink and 400 for the show, to which I responded, “What show? All I can see are the three of you.” I also mentioned that they should pay me, because by now we were definitely attracting more interest than the women on stage.
After a while, even the yelling and screaming was getting boring. Witch number 3 eventually shouted, “So how much will you pay?”, and I passed her 200 Baht. She then yelled at me some more and told us to leave the premises. In moments like these, I’m glad I don’t speak Thai because I’m sure what she was saying to me in my face was far from nice. Ah well.
As it was, we ended up in a side alley of Patpong finishing the beers for which we had bargained long and hard. V didn’t get to see the famous ping pong show, but at least we didn’t get beat up either. As I was about to finish my drink, another eager-looking man approached us and asked, “Want to see show? We have male dancers too”. Again, the “menu” he showed me read 100 Baht.
“Only if you’re dancing,” I said. He shut up and walked away.
It is essentially a theme park. Here you can find most elements that you’d expect from a theme park. The stereotypical balding and beer-gutted sex tourist has long abandoned Patpong for Nana and Soi Cowboy (and certainly other neighbourhoods not mentioned in my guidebook). Instead, the people that pack into the narrow alleys of Patpong are middle-aged couples of just about every nationality, young couples (sometimes with babies in tow), Asian packaged tour groups, and what must be the Japanese equivalent of frat boys. There is a strange mix of ambient music blasting from speakers from all directions. Some people seem to be waiting in line for no apparent reason. There are also men and women everywhere who are eager to show you “menus” of various acrobatic acts involving small and not-so-small objects.
A big difference between here and a more family friendly amusement park, however, is that no one in Patpong seems particularly amused.
Despite any ideological objection one/ I may have to the Patpong shows and everything else along with them, not stepping into one of the bars while you’re already in Patpong would be like not going on any rides when you’re at an amusement park. On this one particular evening, my friend V and I took a stroll around Patpong. We were subsequently followed by a man for over half a mile to offer us 100-Baht beers complete with live entertainment. Succumbing to the man’s persistence and our own curiosity (this was V’s first time in Thailand), we followed him up some very brightly lit stairs (they were pink) to a very dark room with a circular bar, a narrow platform and 4 poles. There were tables around the stage/ bar and most of them were occupied. Once the man seated us at a table, someone else pulled out a drinks menu and reaffirmed that we could have anything on the menu for 100-Baht. We ordered beers. By now there were 4 girls of all shapes and sizes on the stage.
A friend of mine once tried to pin-point what exactly it is that makes something erotic as opposed to pornographic. The thing is, I’m not sure if the shows in Patpong would even classify as pornographic. The ladies on stage were not exactly dancing; they were mainly just having a conversation amongst themselves while holding onto the poles. Strangely, the scene, reminded me of a women’s locker room. For sure the woemn weren’t wearing very much on their bodies-- but they all had intriguing footwear. Two of them were wearing thigh-high boots with killer heels, which I suppose is common practice in that kind of establishment despite the climate that we live in (fungus immediately popped to mind…)? One of them was wearing sneakers—even this I can sort of understand, given that she probably doubled up as a waitress and bartender, and there could be broken glass and all sorts of nasties on the floor of a bar. There was, however, a woman who was completely naked except for the white gym socks on her feet.
Our drinks arrived. I looked around and realized that I wasn’t the only one that was a bit bored and aprehensive. All eyes were fixated on the same stage, but no one looked the least bit engaged. And then a middle-aged Thai woman appeared in front of me and asked me for 1,400 Baht for our two beers. “It was 100 Baht according to the man and the menu”. I realized, the second these words spilled out of my mouth, that we had just become the latest targets of a long-standing scam. The woman went on to tell me all sorts of things, and produced another menu indicating that a beer now cost 300 Baht.
I had no intention of paying anything more than 100 Baht for my beer. The woman got increasingly agitated and by now another equally middle-aged woman emerged. This time, she showed me yet another menu with beers costing 1,000 Baht. I laughed out loud and asked her if it was a joke—but like everyone else in Patpong she wasn’t amused. The haggling continued. And since witches tend to hang out in threes, a third woman was cued in just to complete this story. What these women lacked in logic and English vocabulary was made up for by volume. Witch number 3 was definitely the loudest and looked the most pissed off. V thought she was going to beat me up. She tried to reason that drinks and shows were charged separately-- 300 Baht for the drink and 400 for the show, to which I responded, “What show? All I can see are the three of you.” I also mentioned that they should pay me, because by now we were definitely attracting more interest than the women on stage.
After a while, even the yelling and screaming was getting boring. Witch number 3 eventually shouted, “So how much will you pay?”, and I passed her 200 Baht. She then yelled at me some more and told us to leave the premises. In moments like these, I’m glad I don’t speak Thai because I’m sure what she was saying to me in my face was far from nice. Ah well.
As it was, we ended up in a side alley of Patpong finishing the beers for which we had bargained long and hard. V didn’t get to see the famous ping pong show, but at least we didn’t get beat up either. As I was about to finish my drink, another eager-looking man approached us and asked, “Want to see show? We have male dancers too”. Again, the “menu” he showed me read 100 Baht.
“Only if you’re dancing,” I said. He shut up and walked away.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Take a walk on the… which side?
As far as urban planning is concerned, I always try to make the point that it is much, much more than just sidewalks and zoning laws. And that is why I’m most surprised when, a couple of weeks into life in Bangkok, I’m obsessing over non other than… er… sidewalks.
At first glance, it’s baffling how Bangkokians, who live in a city infamous for its horrendous traffic, can be so averse to walking. To my co-workers, walking the seven minutes between the office and the skytrain station is unheard of. Why walk when you can take an air-conditioned shuttle bus that takes about 3 times as long? As a matter of fact, the walk from the parking garage to the elevator lobby is already considered a bit of a nuisance. But eager to experience Bangkok at the street level, I arrived determined to walk.
That was, until I realized I didn’t exactly know how to walk in this city.
Precisely due to a lack of zoning laws in Thailand (thought I’d throw this in to humor the planners amongst us), developers can build straight up to the kerb, taking up every inch of real estate that might otherwise be turned into a sidewalk. Recently on my soi—which has been experiencing a building boom of late—a big span of sidewalk disappeared overnight to give way to an ever-expanding construction site. At the foot of the huge “We build what you dream” sign on the scaffolding are cement mixers, dumpsters, trucks, and piles and piles of stuff (could be building materials, could be roadkill of the day… I’m not too sure) depending on the time of the day. That leaves those who choose to walk with no other option but to go down the middle of the road -- which would have been plenty scary if it were a quiet two-way street. Now bring on the tuk-tuks, the motocycle taxis, the buses pumping out black smoke, the push carts with stuff deep-frying in bubbling tubs of oil, and the occasional stray dog. Apparently, while someone’s building my dream, my walk home at night has turned into a bit of a nightmare.
Even where sidewalks do exist, walking doesn’t necessarily get easier. A sidewalk exists—at least in theory, between my office and the skytrain station —but it’s so uneven and so full of potholes that you start wondering if this is actually built along a fault line.
But, when you ever come across a patch of level sidewalk that is of considerable width, you'll realize it is meant for so much more than just walking. Sidewalks aren’t simply there to conect you from point a to b. They are destinations in and of themselves. Here you can eat (and I’m not just talking about ad hoc food carts. The sidewalk “restaurant” at the end of my soi features laminated English menus with pictures!), shop, have your clothes mended, play card games with your friends, build furniture, perform, and be entertained. The other day, I saw someone skinning a pig on the sidewalk; a few meters down the road, someone else was grilling bananas. Sidewalks are where people make their living, and where life takes place.
Two sprained ankles and a few close encounters with headlights later, I’m beginning to understand why Bangkokians don’t like to walk. But when you’re inside an air-conditioned cab, you can’t possibly feel the crispness after a heavy downpour, or taste the barbequed meats in the air.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday night non fiction
Cast:
I
Massage lady
Single Lady on tatami next to me
Massage lady 2, massaging Single Lady
The English-accented voice known as David on tatami next to Single Lady
Massage lady 3, massaging Daivd
Set:
Your neigborhood massage place, corner of soi 22., central Bangkok
Scene:
Friday at 10:30pm, end of a long day. I was lying on a tatami, the end of a row of about five tatamis, separated by muslin curtains. Massage Lady was plucking my hamstrings when a male voice emerged from the other side of the curtains. I swear I cannot make this shit up if I tried.
Act 1: Old enough to know the game, young enough to play it
The male voice went: “Aw. Difficult day at the office”
“Something wrong?”
“Oh… just… you know, executive stress”
- Silence for about 10 seconds
Male voice from the other side of the curtain: “Are you engaged?”
“No, are you?”
“So you used the name Single Lady in the chat room. That to me suggested that you were available and were looking for men?”
“I also use other names that you will never know about. Depends on my mood”.
“But you were specifically looking to chat with men?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I want to research you”.
“Girls are not that interesting to me”.
“And are you more interested in Farang men? How do they compare with Thai men?”
“…”
“Have you had any experience with Farang men?”
“…”
“Why aren’t you interested in Thai men?”
“Thai men like girls who are pale, skinny, small… and Chinese looking. Which is very not me”
- I was getting a bit grossed out and annoyed. Massage lady was stepping on my lower back and I tuned out for a moment, but the following was too good to miss.
Male voice goes, “You know, I get massages a few times a week, near where I live. Sometimes I get a foot massage, sometimes with oil. Sometimes a Thai massage, and sometimes with a happy ending. You know about happy endings?
(Massage Lady goes into a coughing fit)
“How old are you?”
“Ho old do you think I am?”
“36”
“Really? Wow. That makes me sad. I was going to pay for your massage but now I won’t. I’m terribly upset”.
“So how old are you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to know!”
“Old enough to know the game, but young enough to play it, I tell you”.
- I tried to contain my chuckles by pressing my face against the pillow. Massage Lady stopped everything she was doing and asked me if I was okay, showing grave concern
Act 2: I would like to meet your sister
Male voice from the other side of the curtain: “Do you know how to massage?”
“No”
“But do you want to give me a massage?”
“Not really”.
“Can I say something to you?”
“Yes?”
“You have really big breasts”.
(At this point I actually thought eavesdropping might be better fun than the massage I was receiving)
“… {giggles}”
“They look like they may fall out of your shirt”.
“…”
- I, by now, was cringing. Massage Lady was kneading my shoulders and commented, “Ah. Very tense”
“Do you live alone?”
“Why?”
“Did you understand what I said? Do… you… live… with… someone…?”
“My sister”.
“Is your sister home tonight?”
“Probably there now”.
“Well I might have to meet her”.
“Why do you want to meet my sister?”
“Because I am interested in where you live. What are we going to do after the massage?”
“Go to the pub?”
“So, do you have a lot of experience?”
(I was thinking… oh for goodness’ sake! Put it away! This is a family kind of place! But hold on… it gets better)
“…”
“With men? With women?”
“Not with women. Have you with men?”
(To be honest, I didn’t really catch the second part of this sentence because she was whispering. But I deduced so, based on the subsequent dialogue)
“Yes. I started when I was 8”.
“How was it?”
“It felt like he was tickling me at first. But there was a happy ending”.
“And you were 8?”
“Maybe I wasn’t 8. More like 10. Maybe 12”.
“So if you didn’t meet me tonight, you would have met with )!£$”^%?” (I failed to catch the name. At this point I really wished I had a tape recorder or a notepad on me)
“Yes, but I’m glad we met. This massage is a good idea”.
“What would you do instead?”
“He would probably force me to drink lots of beers. And then take advantage of me. You know, I didn’t used to have a lot of fun. But when I turned 27, I realized that I didn’t have much of my youth left. You understand youth? My years of being young were… almost over. So I decided that I should go out and meet people, do things, have fun.”
“So how old are you?”
“My point is, you are only young between the ages of 18 and 30. So you don’t have that much time. You should have fun, you know, do things, while you are still young. I am trying to remind you”.
- Silence. Now I was thinking I was too old for any sort of fun and action!
Act 3: Better than jogging
Male voice goes: “Do you think I’m fat?”
“Not fat. But maybe you should do exercise”.
“How can you tell that I don’t exercise?”
“I guessed”.
“You’re right. I don’t do a lot of exercise”.
“Like my ex-boyfriend”.
“Your ex-boyfriend didn’t exercise either? How old is he?”
“Maybe same as you. How old are you?”
“But I take care of myself. I eat well. And I don’t drink beer. Maybe we can exercise together”.
“Okay! Go jogging?”
“Not what I was thinking, but yes, jogging is a kind of exercise”.
“Swimming?””Closer… but something more fun than swimming, that we can do together. (giggles)”
- At this point I was thinking, is this guy for real? When was the last time this worked for him??
“So do you know of a place that we can go afterwards? Where… you can give me a massage?”
“The pub?”
“No, not the pub! Too many people! Then everyone else will want a massage too! Can we go back to your place? Can you call your sister to see if she’s there?”
“Why do you want to go to my place?”
“Do you know of another place?”
“What kind of place do you want to go?”
“I know a place on Sukhumvit Soi 40. 40 Wings. Have you heard of it? We can go there”.
“It’s a hotel?”
“Short stay. So we go there after here, yes?”
“Where?”
“We go to the short stay hotel on soi 40 after this, so you can give me a massage. After this. We take Skytrain, yeah?”
“No… we can walk there”.
“I don’t want to walk. Takes too long. Let’s get a taxi. My treat”
- Note: A taxi from "here" to Soi 40 would probably cost 2 US dollars, so Mr Casanova over there isn’t exactly splashing out on his date like he's making it sound to be.
Act 4: It’s not me, it’s you
Massage Lady braced me from behind and swung me around. I was getting a bit sad that my massage was coming to an end.
Male voice goes: “So do you think we can catch a taxi from here? Will the driver need to turn around?”
- I sensed desperation. Lots of it.
“This is our last time”
“Our last time? But our date is not over! Why do you say that??”
“I am afraid of you”.
“What do you mean? Afraid of me?”
“I am afraid”.
“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to you”
- By now Massage Lady was tapping my back and said “Finished”. No no no, I thought, their date is not over yet!
Male voice went: “Is the lady at the end still there?”
- I was quiet and pretending to stretch—an ill attempt at buying some more time, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of this loser of a man
“…” (silence from the other side of the curtain)
“David, are you okay?”
“I am sad”.
“Why?”
“Because you said you’re afraid of me. No one has ever said that to me before. Everyone says I’m a nice, easygoing guy”.
“…”
“Is it me, or are you always afraid of men?”
“Sometimes”.
“Aha! That’s it! You’re not afraid of me! You’re just afraid of men in general! I bet you’ve had a bad experience with men. Have you had a bad experience with men? With a Thai man?”
“… (no response)”
“Those Thai men are something to be afraid of, I tell you”.
“… (still no response)”
- At this point I contemplated opening the curtains and rescuing the girl, because David was sounding like a maniac.
Male voice started again, “I had this girlfriend. She later told me that she had a baby, but the baby died. I asked her why the baby died, and she told me the story how she was raped by her boyfriend…”
“Rape?”
“Rape. Do you know that word? It means… he was rude to her and hurt her” The voice continued, “but she still stayed with him, and had the baby. But the baby died shortly after birth. Sometimes I just don’t understand this country. It’s so fu*ked up. I can’t stand it”.
- And irony, ladies and gentlemen, is what keeps us going (or at least stretching and getting dressed in slow motion so as to catch a glimpse of the couple concluding their first date).
I
Massage lady
Single Lady on tatami next to me
Massage lady 2, massaging Single Lady
The English-accented voice known as David on tatami next to Single Lady
Massage lady 3, massaging Daivd
Set:
Your neigborhood massage place, corner of soi 22., central Bangkok
Scene:
Friday at 10:30pm, end of a long day. I was lying on a tatami, the end of a row of about five tatamis, separated by muslin curtains. Massage Lady was plucking my hamstrings when a male voice emerged from the other side of the curtains. I swear I cannot make this shit up if I tried.
Act 1: Old enough to know the game, young enough to play it
The male voice went: “Aw. Difficult day at the office”
“Something wrong?”
“Oh… just… you know, executive stress”
- Silence for about 10 seconds
Male voice from the other side of the curtain: “Are you engaged?”
“No, are you?”
“So you used the name Single Lady in the chat room. That to me suggested that you were available and were looking for men?”
“I also use other names that you will never know about. Depends on my mood”.
“But you were specifically looking to chat with men?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I want to research you”.
“Girls are not that interesting to me”.
“And are you more interested in Farang men? How do they compare with Thai men?”
“…”
“Have you had any experience with Farang men?”
“…”
“Why aren’t you interested in Thai men?”
“Thai men like girls who are pale, skinny, small… and Chinese looking. Which is very not me”
- I was getting a bit grossed out and annoyed. Massage lady was stepping on my lower back and I tuned out for a moment, but the following was too good to miss.
Male voice goes, “You know, I get massages a few times a week, near where I live. Sometimes I get a foot massage, sometimes with oil. Sometimes a Thai massage, and sometimes with a happy ending. You know about happy endings?
(Massage Lady goes into a coughing fit)
“How old are you?”
“Ho old do you think I am?”
“36”
“Really? Wow. That makes me sad. I was going to pay for your massage but now I won’t. I’m terribly upset”.
“So how old are you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to know!”
“Old enough to know the game, but young enough to play it, I tell you”.
- I tried to contain my chuckles by pressing my face against the pillow. Massage Lady stopped everything she was doing and asked me if I was okay, showing grave concern
Act 2: I would like to meet your sister
Male voice from the other side of the curtain: “Do you know how to massage?”
“No”
“But do you want to give me a massage?”
“Not really”.
“Can I say something to you?”
“Yes?”
“You have really big breasts”.
(At this point I actually thought eavesdropping might be better fun than the massage I was receiving)
“… {giggles}”
“They look like they may fall out of your shirt”.
“…”
- I, by now, was cringing. Massage Lady was kneading my shoulders and commented, “Ah. Very tense”
“Do you live alone?”
“Why?”
“Did you understand what I said? Do… you… live… with… someone…?”
“My sister”.
“Is your sister home tonight?”
“Probably there now”.
“Well I might have to meet her”.
“Why do you want to meet my sister?”
“Because I am interested in where you live. What are we going to do after the massage?”
“Go to the pub?”
“So, do you have a lot of experience?”
(I was thinking… oh for goodness’ sake! Put it away! This is a family kind of place! But hold on… it gets better)
“…”
“With men? With women?”
“Not with women. Have you with men?”
(To be honest, I didn’t really catch the second part of this sentence because she was whispering. But I deduced so, based on the subsequent dialogue)
“Yes. I started when I was 8”.
“How was it?”
“It felt like he was tickling me at first. But there was a happy ending”.
“And you were 8?”
“Maybe I wasn’t 8. More like 10. Maybe 12”.
“So if you didn’t meet me tonight, you would have met with )!£$”^%?” (I failed to catch the name. At this point I really wished I had a tape recorder or a notepad on me)
“Yes, but I’m glad we met. This massage is a good idea”.
“What would you do instead?”
“He would probably force me to drink lots of beers. And then take advantage of me. You know, I didn’t used to have a lot of fun. But when I turned 27, I realized that I didn’t have much of my youth left. You understand youth? My years of being young were… almost over. So I decided that I should go out and meet people, do things, have fun.”
“So how old are you?”
“My point is, you are only young between the ages of 18 and 30. So you don’t have that much time. You should have fun, you know, do things, while you are still young. I am trying to remind you”.
- Silence. Now I was thinking I was too old for any sort of fun and action!
Act 3: Better than jogging
Male voice goes: “Do you think I’m fat?”
“Not fat. But maybe you should do exercise”.
“How can you tell that I don’t exercise?”
“I guessed”.
“You’re right. I don’t do a lot of exercise”.
“Like my ex-boyfriend”.
“Your ex-boyfriend didn’t exercise either? How old is he?”
“Maybe same as you. How old are you?”
“But I take care of myself. I eat well. And I don’t drink beer. Maybe we can exercise together”.
“Okay! Go jogging?”
“Not what I was thinking, but yes, jogging is a kind of exercise”.
“Swimming?””Closer… but something more fun than swimming, that we can do together. (giggles)”
- At this point I was thinking, is this guy for real? When was the last time this worked for him??
“So do you know of a place that we can go afterwards? Where… you can give me a massage?”
“The pub?”
“No, not the pub! Too many people! Then everyone else will want a massage too! Can we go back to your place? Can you call your sister to see if she’s there?”
“Why do you want to go to my place?”
“Do you know of another place?”
“What kind of place do you want to go?”
“I know a place on Sukhumvit Soi 40. 40 Wings. Have you heard of it? We can go there”.
“It’s a hotel?”
“Short stay. So we go there after here, yes?”
“Where?”
“We go to the short stay hotel on soi 40 after this, so you can give me a massage. After this. We take Skytrain, yeah?”
“No… we can walk there”.
“I don’t want to walk. Takes too long. Let’s get a taxi. My treat”
- Note: A taxi from "here" to Soi 40 would probably cost 2 US dollars, so Mr Casanova over there isn’t exactly splashing out on his date like he's making it sound to be.
Act 4: It’s not me, it’s you
Massage Lady braced me from behind and swung me around. I was getting a bit sad that my massage was coming to an end.
Male voice goes: “So do you think we can catch a taxi from here? Will the driver need to turn around?”
- I sensed desperation. Lots of it.
“This is our last time”
“Our last time? But our date is not over! Why do you say that??”
“I am afraid of you”.
“What do you mean? Afraid of me?”
“I am afraid”.
“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to you”
- By now Massage Lady was tapping my back and said “Finished”. No no no, I thought, their date is not over yet!
Male voice went: “Is the lady at the end still there?”
- I was quiet and pretending to stretch—an ill attempt at buying some more time, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of this loser of a man
“…” (silence from the other side of the curtain)
“David, are you okay?”
“I am sad”.
“Why?”
“Because you said you’re afraid of me. No one has ever said that to me before. Everyone says I’m a nice, easygoing guy”.
“…”
“Is it me, or are you always afraid of men?”
“Sometimes”.
“Aha! That’s it! You’re not afraid of me! You’re just afraid of men in general! I bet you’ve had a bad experience with men. Have you had a bad experience with men? With a Thai man?”
“… (no response)”
“Those Thai men are something to be afraid of, I tell you”.
“… (still no response)”
- At this point I contemplated opening the curtains and rescuing the girl, because David was sounding like a maniac.
Male voice started again, “I had this girlfriend. She later told me that she had a baby, but the baby died. I asked her why the baby died, and she told me the story how she was raped by her boyfriend…”
“Rape?”
“Rape. Do you know that word? It means… he was rude to her and hurt her” The voice continued, “but she still stayed with him, and had the baby. But the baby died shortly after birth. Sometimes I just don’t understand this country. It’s so fu*ked up. I can’t stand it”.
- And irony, ladies and gentlemen, is what keeps us going (or at least stretching and getting dressed in slow motion so as to catch a glimpse of the couple concluding their first date).
It's only just begun...
I'm still grappling with the idea of blogging. I'm convinced that most of what I have to say simply isn't that important, and most of what I find important isn't terribly interesting. Who's going to bother read it?!
Then again, I was the last person to think that I'd be hooked on facebook and now I can't imagine life without it.
Given primetime television in Thailand isn't all that exciting, I say why not.
This could, after all, turn out to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Then again, I was the last person to think that I'd be hooked on facebook and now I can't imagine life without it.
Given primetime television in Thailand isn't all that exciting, I say why not.
This could, after all, turn out to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
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