First Timer Burns Brain Circuits
By Siem Rick
Stickman and friends, for I feel we have been so for the few months I've been reading these wonderful, insightful reports on this remarkable site.
This is my first post here. It's from someone who has never been to southeast Asia (until now) and never sat in such awe of seemingly limitless women — in numbers and beauty. So you have my unqualified permission to laugh at me.
I landed at (here comes the lingo) BKK about 11 o'clock on a Monday night in November. My well travelled friend met me at the maelstrom that is Don Muang Airport after I spent roughly 28 hours in taxis, airports and airplanes. Zonked, I was. But here was my smiling friend, sticking out of the crowd only because he was a familiar and welcome face.
Into the heat, humidity (from near 0 Celsius temps of a chilly Farangland nation) and craziness that is the taxi line up. (I belabour the details here for what follows.) Line up, get the "ticket" for downtown, the negotiation with the cabbie (by my friend, just to make sure he was on the level), then we were off in the Super Touring Car race to Sukumvit, whatever the heck that was.
Nothing had gone wrong on the trip, except that I completely forgot to bring any toiletries, the ones in the bag at home, on the kitchen table. Oh, well. My friend will show me where to outfit the toilet. Oh, yeah, there was the hour and a half delay at the originating airport for: 1) delay at maintenance hangar, 2) refueling problem, 3) shortage of crewmen, four of whom we had to wait for, one at a time. Also, no one told me I did not have to line up for an instant visa because of where I'm from. Wasted time, not to mention panic for the 500 baht (?) fee. Quick, into the very handy currency counter, right across from the visa counter. And then there's the airport charge. The money is flowing already.
The first words out of my mouth after saying "hi" are, I really need a shower. He didn't back away. He had threatened to take me directly to a bar for some action. Little did I know what he meant until later.
We flew along the ins and outs of the expressway into Bangkok, veering and braking and speeding up with unspeakable pace (and I'm an ex racer and rally co-driver). Then we ran head-on into Sukumvit traffic (which I can speak calmly about now). Then it's into the Soi 8 hotel and out again and down the street in a tuk-tuk to Sukumvit. I'm already reeling from the claustrophobic trip, the heat and the choking city. And he wants to take me Soi Nana!
Now I had read about Nana on this site and another one. No words can prepare you, though, for the onslaught of pitches, come-hither looks and "hello, welcomes". And there are girls by the handsful, dozens of them, hundreds . . . and they all want me! I'm stunned. And I haven't even entered the Angelwitch, yet. I haven't even got to the second floor of Nana.
I have never witnessed anything like this or seen anything like it in films or imagined it. Reading about it does nothing to prepare you. I'm stunned . . . like I said. And they're all so beautiful. I'm grabbed at, gorgeous dark eyes look straight into my own, two or three at a time want me to join them, (but no one pulls a Britney Spears hip-out music video pose — thank the gods!).
So up the stairs we go to an unknown destination, passing lots of drawn curtains and greeting girls. And into the — and I just catch the sign as I duck through the curtains — Angelwitch, where on a stage with brass-coloured poles dance a dozen or more beautiful young women in black bikinis. I am blinking from the visual overload and pulsing music. We are warmly welcomed to our raked perches. And what do I want to drink? My friend orders a certain German beer and so do I. This has got to cost a small nation's GDP, I think.
I'm trying to take it in, little by little, as I watch up close some stunning girls. I can't decide who to look at. My friend is just smiling and asks me whether this is what I thought it was like. Huh? This is nothing like I thought it would be like. It's better! Suddenly, an older woman comes over and asks me who I want. My brain jumps the track and goes into safe mode. I can't answer because I had no idea this was the infamous mamasan. I mumble something about them all being beautiful and I'm so exhausted (which is another way of saying I've no idea why you're offering me a girl — okay, the truth is that I was utterly unprepared for this kind of direct offer). My friend encourages me to decide, but I drop the ball. I'm just too tired to get it. Then he says the mamasan must like you. "I didn't know what you said when you came I but you must have smiled or something." Anyway, the mamasan must have noticed I was watching some petite thing and she calls the girl over.
This sweetie comes up and brushes me as she sits down and reaches out, arching her back just like a cat that's stretching out to sit down, rides her hands up my arms to my hands and leans against me. I'm thinking, when was the last time a girl caressed me back in Farangland and the answer is a foggy memory. In fact, I'm dumbstruck. My friend is constantly encouraging me, poking me to "barfine" her and, well, I've no idea what he's talking about and I still am so thick-headed and now ligh-theaded from the beer. Fortunately (this time) it's close to closing time and I'm saved by the lights.
Walking out of there and home among the crowds of women and westerners, I'm barely conscious, but thinking this is going to be a very interesting tour. Next day after brunch, we visit Lolitas, conveniently at the end of our soi, and I'm quickly indoctrinated into a select Bangkok lifestyle.
Another joins the army of addicts.