Readers' Submissions

Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 155

  • Written by Dana
  • December 16th, 2006
  • 17 min read


End of vacation. Beat. Tired. Sick. Almost time to go back to Boston and go to the clinic and get the mysterious Dr. 'M' from Rio to irradiate my blood, and have 100 grams of intravenous vitamin C, and intravenous mineral replacement, and a double shot of intravenous hydrogen peroxide with a Myers nutritional cocktail that makes my toes nearly ignite from the internal heat while my head is making thrashing movements. Nurse Carmen operates the plunger and I calculate how much I can take . . .

billboard bangkok

"Stop stop stop–jesus stop, it is too hot and painful."

"No no don't stop–it feels wonderful."

"Oh god Carmen, stop the plunger; I can't take it–it is too hot and painful."

"Ok, I think I can take some more. God that feels good."

"Oh god nurse–stop the plunger it is too hot and painful; jesus I'm dying . . .

"Ok, yeah I'm cool now–give me the rest Carmen and don't stop. Stand on the plunger and jam it in."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . Sweet Jesus that hurts."

There's no pleasure like magnesium delivered with a plunger through a clear plastic tube directly into the vein. I'll also have the Chem 26 lab procedure to test for basics plus STD's, and then three weeks of enzymes and vitamin C megadoses. No cholesterol or triglycerides screening or any of the rest. That's medicine for people who are thinking of longevity issues. I only think six months at a time. I already know I'm going to die of Aids or suicide so why waste time and money on health? Just get me in shape Dr.'M' from Rio and lovely nurse Carmen so that I can have sex without condoms with high risk women again in six months.

Anyway, it is my last day in the Kingdom and I am beat and sick and tired but tonight is a big event. Tonight, my last night in Bangkok, I have a date with Min of Washington Square. She is a ‘good Thai girl'. I had met her two weeks before on a kind of blind date thing set up by an expat acquaintance of mine who lives in Washington Square. She works in a legitimate massage place off soi 22. Liked her a lot. So now it is serious adult time. I have never dated a good Thai girl so I am anxious to please. I want to give a good account of myself and I also give a good account for every well intentioned farang with jai dee. I feel like a teenager full of hope and nervousness.

butterflies bangkok

Min gives me a foot massage at the place where she works (I think all massage is bunk and junk and a fraud but I play along) before dinner and she gets a 100 baht tip. My feet don't feel any different but my wallet feels lighter. Massage. What crap. A nation's shame. Anyway, we go to a restaurant of expensive Thai food (she doesn't ask what I might want) and I pay for everything. She eats like the Burmese are coming through the Three Pagoda Pass on war elephants and it is her last meal. Bewildering and seemingly unending entrees. She eats everything. A food vacuum cleaner. She is about four feet tall and she tears at the food like a shark cleaning out a pail of guppies. Where does she put it all?

"No, I mean really–where does she put it all? She is four feet tall for christ's sake and there can not possibly be room in there for all the incoming. If you have ever been to the Kingdom you know what I mean. Are you a newbie to the Thai scene? Want to have some fun–sort of a scientific thing? Pick up a Thai woman no taller than four feet (use a ruler) and take her to a restaurant. Prepared to be staggered"

Anyway, no thanks to me. And no conversation. Not a word. I guess sharks aren't big talkers. I got all nervous about taking a good Thai girl out to dinner and paying to watch her gorge herself like a Chinese goose with a funnel jammed down it's beak. Wait, it gets better all you jai dee farangs who would like to get lucky enough to meet a good Thai girl. During dinner she asks to try on my silver bracelets. She puts on seven bracelets. I get back six. No thanks to me. I guess I just made a donation to Thai culture.

We go to the Mambo transvestite show. She has a great time but no thanks to me. The Mambo show is so close to the massage place where she has been working that you could practically hit it by throwing a rock. She did not know it was there. Another worldly Thai. Good thing I showed up with money and a compass. She asks me to set up an email account for her so that we can communicate with each other. At least that is what I think she said. The only part I am sure of is that she asked me to set up an email account for her. She can not do anything on the computer. So how are we going to communicate? I don't ask. What the hell; in for a penny, in for a pound. Another 50 baht. And we can add taxi and Skytrain fares that I incurred on this excursion into the mysterious and highly sought after world of the good Thai girl. On the way back to her job I go to put my arm around her as we are walking side by side down the sidewalk. No good. She throws my hand off. She isn't having it. I try again. Rebuffed again. I was good enough for the show and the dinner and the jewelry and the internet account and the massage tip and the attention but I am not good enough to put my arm around her. How do you say — "Honey, something isn't right." in Thai?


Up around 2000 baht on this date. Ten days of this good Thai girl would be 20,000 baht. And the way she eats by the time she judged me worthy enough to put my arm around her it would be like putting my arm around a bowling ball. So, what did I get for my money and my time and my hopes and my good intentions? I got to watch someone eat, and watch a show, and receive a free internet account, and pocket a tip, and steal my jewelry. Gosh Thailand–I hope someday I am good enough for your good women. But I guess right now that is just a dream.

Wait, I'm not through. I've spent years hearing about the good Thai girl so what's another paragraph? Ten dates with the good Thai woman at two thousand baht per date is going to cost me twenty thousand baht. If you thought dating in a Third World country was cheap guess again. It ain't Siam anymore; it is now Thailand and it is going to cost you. Oh well, I guess the twenty thousand baht is an investment in my future. After all, I have to prove I'm as good as she is because she is a Thai and I am only a dirty foreign devil. Three dates per week (we are courting) would be thirty six dates in three months. 72,000 BAHT. For seventy-two thousand baht I can pick up Fa on the boardwalk every sunny morning in Pattaya 144 times. 144 fun morning bonks with my beautiful Fa. Is a good Thai girl worth one hundred and forty-four happy times with a bad Thai girl? Interesting equation.

No more good Thai girls. Waste of time and money. But at least I learned something I won't forget —

"No More Good Thai Girls. Waste Of Time And Money."

Hey, and I can't be the lone ranger here. I can't be the only farang who has had this experience. Don't believe me? Ok, try this. Have a temporary tattoo pattern made up that says–"No More Good Thai Girls. Waste Of Time And Money." Get yourself a table and set up a little temporary tattoo business on the sidewalk around Soi 13 in South Pattaya. If I'm in town I'll be your helper. I'll bet we run out of ink in three hours.

So anyway it is my last evening in Bangkok. I stagger back to the Nana for a nap and some regrouping. No more good Thai girls and I am too tired to be any good at anything else but still it is my last night in Bangkok so I gird my tired tourist loins and leave the Mothership. Head up to Soi 10 to check out a blow job bar I found on the internet. Two bars: one in BKK and one in Pattaya with a professional quality website. I'm too whipped for athletics but I guess I could just be serviced. Find the bar. Close enough to the Nana to go in the rolodex. Inside. Terrible. None of the girls really any fun. Place is empty and the cashier refuses to cash a 500 baht note. Apparently she does not want me to actually spend money in the bar. Oh well, who knows . . . Thailand. One young skinny boney Chinesey looking girl with frightening teeth comes and stands next to me at the bar but then she doesn't know how to move the thing forward. And the notion of having those bad buck teeth near me is frightening. Makes you wonder what complete idiot is in charge of hiring. Pitiful. I leave.

As I am going back down the alley I can hear the staff tumbling out of the door where they line up and sing the GO AWAY FARANG song:

Go away farang–

We don't need you.

Go away farang–

We don't like you.

Go away farang–

We don't want you.

Hit the road

And don't come back.

Our contempt for you–

We don't lack.

We don't need you–

We'd sooner shit green.

Get out of the bar–

You we wish we'd never seen . . .

We don't like you.

You've got nothing for us.

Hit the road–

Find a bus.

We don't want you–

Forget getting change.

You're nothing but a dog

Covered with mange.

Hit the road–

And don't come back.

Our contempt for you

We don't lack.

Go away farang–

We don't need you.

Go away farang–

We don't like you.

Go away farang–

We don't want you.

Hit the road yet ped–

And don't come back.

Hit the road Hee mah–

And don't come back.

Hit the road kuhn heeat–

And don't come back.

You want cash register change?

Por Mung Tai–

You want service?


You want a smile?

Chong mang.

Hit the road

Ai Na Dad–

And don't come back.

Hit the road


Contempt we don't lack.

If we want your opinions

We'll squeeze your head.

Smiling at you?

We'd sooner be dead.

If we run out of toilet paper–

To the phone we'll race.

We'll call you down–

And use your face.

Hit the road farang keenohk–

Listen to our taunts.

We're glad you're leaving–

Something to mock.

Go away farang–

We don't need you.

Go away farang–

We don't like you.

Go away farang–

We don't need you.

This is a blowjob bar–

Sex for money.

If you ain't gonna buy–

We ain't your honey.

You want change

From the cash register?

Then get blown first–

Spew on her.

Otherwise yet mang–

You son of a Ga-ree.

Find the door–

Your back we want to see.

Go away farang–

We don't like you.

We don't need you.

We don't want you.

We'd sooner return

To good old Siamese–

Than smile and mean it:

The customer to please.

We wish you were dead.

We wish you were gone.

We are Thai–

This is our song.

Christ, if this is what passes for a sex venue in the 21st century then humans have not made much progress in 10,000 years. Pitiful. No wonder masturbation is so popular. Better service by qualified interested people and no risk of losing your money.

Now it is hot and dark and I am staggering up Sukhumvit. Overdressed. Not having any fun. Looking for another place I get lost. Then onto the Skytrain. Get off and get lost again. Walking for what seems like miles in the wrong direction. The Skytrain is well set up until you get off the thing and have to exit the correct side of the station to get to where you are going. Signs but no maps. I have never once even by sheer stupid dumb statistical luck managed to exit the Skytrain on the proper side for my destination. I spent ten years of my life reading about physics, and I have been interested in astronomy and celestial navigation for decades; but I can't divine how to exit the Skytrain on the correct side. I guess I am just not smart enough. Once I made a choice and then purposely went the other direction. Nope. Wrong side again. Another time I made a choice and then changed my mind and then quickly turned on my heel and changed direction again (trying to outsmart Fate here). Got down to the sidewalk and screwed again. Once a nice English speaking expat saw me looking lost and distressed and he helped me. Nope. Wrong side of the street again. I have exited the Skytrain on the wrong side at stations between Asoke and On Nut and at stations between Rajchathewi and Saphan Kwai so many times that if a biologist was tracking me by my radio signal coyote collar he would have to conclude that this animal has no idea what it is doing. At some of these stations you would think that because of secondary landmarks that it would be impossible to screw up. For example at On Nut you can see the Tedesco on one side, and at Phrom Phong you can see the Emporium complex, and at Nana you can see the unfinished skyscraper and empty lot, etc. You would be mistaken. However, with my big western brain I have come up with a sure fire way to deal with this navigational conundrum. I don't even try anymore. I just exit by the first set of downward steps and then go to plan B when I get to the street. Saves time starring at maps like a dog looking at a cat's full litterbox and trying to make a decision. No more querying the frightened locals, or consulting my Lonely Planet GPS, or irritating Skytrain station personnel, or measuring the angle of declination of the sun, or hanging over the edge three stories up and trying to plot according to far away landmarks.

"Let's see–if we travelled south, and the sun is in the west, and I can almost maybe see the river, and the color of the soil is red, and the last time I got lost by going down these stairs, and my map is oriented properly, and I keep the compass away from the metal railing so as to not excite local polarity differentials, and this same begging mother and child was in this exact spot six months ago, and if that fruit juice stand was in that same spot one year ago, and . . .

Holy shit, look at that woman–her hair must go down almost to her knees–and . . . oh Jesus–look at her friend; high cheekbones and big designer glasses and big rings and big jewelry and a neck-to-ankles clinging knit dress, and . . . I think I'll just follow these female Kingdomites down the Skytrain station stairs and see what happens."

Anyway, it is my last night in Bangkok and I look like every other stupid tourist farang loser. Hot and tired and overdressed and lost. I miss my Pattaya. Pattaya is easy. Bangkok is hard. Should just go home to the Nana and take a bath and go to bed. I'm 58 for god's sake–just cash in the chips and call it a day. Then I see a familiar road sort of. I must be in Soi Cowboy territory. Get lost again. Then find it. At Soi Cowboy I get hopeful. Bright lights and smiling girls. I visit every single bar on both sides of the street from one end to the other. The biologist plotting my movements with the coyote tracking collar would be drawing a zig zag as I go from the top of the street to the bottom. A complete zero. I don't know how the girls in this territory make a living but they sure did not find me appealing. I'm dressed up nice with a wallet full of money but they weren't interested. The only living thing that was pleased to see me was the baby elephant at the end of the soi. Bought 20 baht of bamboo treats and had my first rewarding relationship of the night. Wondered if my good Thai girl will have this elephant's figure in ten years.

Now I turn and scout out where I am and how I am going to get home. I have to cross the 8 lane highway at night. Scares the hell out of me. Barely have the energy. Losing the will to live. Make it across. No more taxis or Skytrain adventures. I know where I am now and I'm just going to spend the rest of my last night in Bangkok doing the hot tired spiritless slog back to the Nana hotel.

Then I stumble on to the Thermae. Had completely forgotten it. Down the steps. It is choked with pussy. Must be 100 girls all looking at me like puppies at a shelter wanting to be adopted. But it is too dark. I hate shopping in the dark and in the last five years have pretty much completely stopped shopping in the dark because you can't see what you are doing. Other guys and authors like to talk about the atmosphere of the dark cavernous night time adventure of the Thermae. But I don't see these guys buying bread at Foodland with the lights out, or shopping for cars in dark automobile showrooms, or talking to Indian tailors about being measured for a custom suit in a dark shop–more smarty-pants tough guy talk from the Thailand literature dweebs who have to make every little Siamese molehill into a men's magazine article mountain. Anyway, I don't like shopping for important merchandise in the dark. I do a little walk around but it just ain't in me.

Going back up the steps there is a woman in front of me having trouble negotiating the stairway. At first I think she must be old because she is mumbling to herself and having balance problems. She is kinda zig zagging left and right on the stairs, and going slow, and unsteady, and she's got those piano legs of the no longer young woman. Then I realize she is not old but drunk. And friendly. She is a friendly drunk. When people drink too much one of three things happens: they either become mean drunks, or they become happy drunks, or they become obnoxious drunks. This one is a happy drunk and she is a player.

Name is . . . can't remember–anyway into the taxi and off to the Nana. At the Nana I am tired and she is drunk but she is happy and I am laughing. Off come the clothes and then I start pounding meat. Loaded with ‘last day in Bangkok' Viagra I pound one side and then turn her over and pound the other side. Her head is rolling like a rag doll and she is laughing. God bless over-the-hill whores who love to bonk and love to laugh and love to drink. Memorable.

So that was my last stupid night in Bangkok. Two thousand baht for the good Thai girl who did not want to be seen with me on the street, and 500 baht for the Thermae tart. I wonder who I will remember the longest: the drunken whore or the good Thai girl?

Stickman's thoughts:

Pattaya is, as you say, and as you and I have talked about, very easy.

It sounds like Dana had another fun adventure.