Bangkok Kiss - by David Thompson - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Newbie From The Motherland

As my plane approached Bangkok international airport, I looked out of the window and was amazed to see a golf course situated between the two main runways. The fairways and greens were in pristine condition and the white sand of the bunkers reflected the bright sunlight as if they had their own source of illumination. When the plane landed and taxied to the end of the runway, I could make out golfers waiting until we had passed in order to resume their game. I tried to imagine their frustration at having play held up because a Jumbo Jet was crossing the fairway, but couldn’t quite get my mind around the whole idea. On the other side of the course, another Jumbo was taking off and I could not believe that a shout of “Fore!” was going to offer any warning to the pilot should a player slice his shot. I wondered what damage a golf ball would do to a jet engine. Back home in England, the authorities would never have allowed anything like it! Just imagine Heathrow or any of the major airports with an eighteen-hole golf course set right in the middle of the runways!

This was to prove to be typical of Thailand: a country of contradiction and contrast where what is not spoken is far more important than that which is. A country where the rules are not just bent or even broken, but positively shattered into tiny pieces until even the rule makers themselves forget which ones apply.

Here, I was a stranger in a strange land, a fish out of water, too old to learn new tricks but too young not to try. I couldn’t wait to set foot on Thai soil and begin my adventure packed holiday!

My break from monotony included a full itinerary with visits to Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Pattaya and Phuket and incorporated an elephant safari, scuba diving, visits to temples and just about everything else I could wish for, even a Thai cooking course!

This would be my first holiday travelling alone and I had ensured that I would have no time for loneliness, no time to become morose over the ending of my marriage, no time to think or deliberate, just get out there and have some fun. Something I hadn’t done for many years.

Eventually, the plane stopped and over four hundred weary travelers, including myself, who had spent the last twelve hours cramped together in an aluminium tube, could not wait to get out. The doors opened and we filed out into the air-conditioned terminal building to be greeted by welcoming airport staff who all seemed to be young women with incredible smiles.

“Sawadi Kaa,” they said, and put their hands together as if in prayer as is the manner of the formal wai greeting. This was the first time I had heard the famous Thai welcome, but it would not be too long before I would be using it myself, except that I would replace the female “Kaa” with the male form of “Khrap”. I was immediately curious as to why all the staff seemed to be women. Don’t get me wrong, I was certainly not complaining, but I was curious all the same.

I had not known what to expect of Thailand, but was surprised, as we walked through the long corridors, to see advertisements for all the brand names we either love or hate back in the western world. The life styles of beautiful people, who eat reclaimed meat in a bread roll or drink sugar enriched flavoured water straight from the bottle, jumped out at me from the billboards and posters. I find it incredibly difficult to believe that the young, beautiful, fresh faced youngsters who smiled down at me had ever maintained a diet of such poor quality as the ones they urged me to consume.

Once my fellow passengers and I had walked the long walkways of the terminal, we found ourselves at the back of an inordinately long queue of people waiting, some patiently, others not so, to show their passports. I noted that the officials were all male and this was the first insight I would have into Thai culture. It seemed to me that the smiling ever-attentive women were the sweetener for the bored looking non-speaking male officials. It would not be too long before I learned that virtually the whole of the Thai tourist industry was dependant upon the smiles of their young women.

Eventually, after two and half hours spent queuing, and about three minutes actually getting my passport stamped with a thirty-day tourist visa, I collected my luggage and walked through to the exit area of Bangkok airport.

To say that I was relieved to be leaving the hustle and bustle of the busy airport would be an understatement and I looked forward to getting out and into the quieter surroundings of the city itself.

What hit me as I walked into the arrivals hall was unbelievable; an explosion of noise and confusion, a cacophony of sound that battered at me in such a way that I could not distinguish one sound from another. Loudspeakers blaring out a language I couldn’t understand, the sound of the traffic just outside the huge open doorways, whistles blown at a decibel level that would rival most commercial jets, hawkers calling out to me that their taxi, hotel or excursion was the best, the cheapest, the newest. A wall of sound that almost pushed me back through the door I had just entered!

I managed to gather my senses enough to push through the crowds and escape to the outside world, only to be blasted by a searing heat that tried to suck the very breath out of me and, at the same time, drench me in perspiration. It was like walking into the steam room I used at my local gym back home, except this time I was fully clothed and carting around a full seventy-five kilo rucksack!

Taxis, buses and cars all vied for space as they pulled in to collect weary travellers and then roar away in a mad hurry to get back for more fares. Thai men in uniforms I took to be police blew whistles and waved their arms in an effort to bring some sort of order to the seemingly chaotic behaviour of the traffic. The air was heavy with pollution from the many diesel and petrol engines, and the stench of exhaust fumes assailed my nostrils until I could taste the gritty particles of soot in my mouth and throat.

“You want taxi?” said a man with a knowing look on his face.

He had obviously seen many independent, worldly-wise travellers wilt under the intensity of noise, heat and sweat.

“Yes please,” I managed to croak, and within seconds I was bustled into a yellow and green taxi that thankfully was equipped with air conditioning.

This would be a good time to explain that virtually all first time visitors to Thailand suffer the same experience. The long wait for the officials, the heat, the noise and the stench of exhaust fumes beat at the senses until the traveller is thankful for any respite and accepts virtually any offer of help. The taxi I had been ushered hastily into was not a meter cab and the cost to transport me away from the oppressiveness of the airport would surely be high. Experienced travellers to Thailand do not walk out into the arrivals hall, but instead walk through to the domestic departure terminal and, on the way, stop off and refresh themselves in the staff restaurant. In the domestic departure area, there is very little traffic and the taxis that drop off the local travellers are almost all meter cabs that have air conditioning and will drive to Bangkok for a fraction of the cost of the non-meter cabs. However, as this was my first visit, I did not know any of the tricks and I was forced to accept my initiation in the same way as thousands of other first-time visitors to Thailand.

In the relative cool of the taxi, I was able to collect my thoughts, but unfortunately not for long. When we reached a toll road, the driver turned and told me, “Forty Baht.”

There was no explanation, just a demand for the money that I duly handed over. Then the fun began. I had heard a little about the traffic and the method of driving in Thailand, but I was not prepared for the leap into hyperspace that we proceeded to undertake.

Within seconds we were hurtling along at a breakneck speed and it was all I could do not to scream out as we overtook, undertook and seemingly went straight through the other traffic!

The only saving grace, as far as I was concerned, was to discover that the Thais drive on the same side of the road as the English; namely the right side of the road, which is quite clearly the left hand side and not the right, which is most obviously the wrong side of the road!

Amazingly, there were other vehicles overtaking and undertaking even my taxi as we careered along the three-lane highway at speeds approaching that of light. Perhaps Einstein had visited this place and had developed one or two theories whilst sat in this very same cab! It was certainly old enough! There seemed to be no logic or rules governing the speed or direction or flow of the traffic. Motorbikes were driving along on the same side of the road as we were, but in completely the opposite direction!

“Where you go?” my driver asked quite calmly, as though nothing was awry.

Fumbling in my pocket and shaking with nerves, I found the paper on which I had written all my much-needed information. No sooner had I taken breath and looked to my driver to speak than I had cause to stop abruptly. He was looking right at me and I was in the back seat!

At that moment I knew I was going to die. We would crash and burn in this green and yellow coffin on wheels and drive straight to hell at breakneck speed overtaking or undertaking the ferryman and his cohorts on the way!

“Watch the road!” I blurted out, pointing at the same time at the back of the overloaded truck trundling along in the outside lane.

With a smoothness that would have impressed most formula one drivers, my chauffer calmly steered us around our impending doom and looked back to me with a smile.

“Okay. No problem. Where you go?”

To be honest, I couldn’t help but be impressed with his driving skills and laid back attitude, so with a shake of my head and a smile of my own, I tried to pronounce my destination.

“Sukhumvit Road. Soi Five. Nana,” I told him, in the perfect accent we English use for foreigners.

“Sukhumwit, Soi Ha, Naa Naa,” he replied with a smile. I was becoming used to the smiles, and I have to say that they are quite infectious.

“Yes, please,” I said, and relaxed back in my seat to watch the horror movie speeding by in a more comfortable position.

This was far better than being petrified, sitting on the edge of the seat, whilst clenching my fists until the knuckles turned white. Much nicer to sit back and at least try to enjoy the last moments of my life. I was tempted to take a photograph of the teeth marks on the back of the headrest in front of me, but I was worried that my driver might turn around and pose for the shot.

Once we left the toll road, we descended into the heavy traffic of Bangkok city. Although our speed had been reduced to that of a commuting cyclist, it was no less scary. Motorbikes approached from every direction and spilled out of side roads in front of the oncoming traffic with careless abandon. Everyone sounded horns as the traffic squeezed itself through the narrow streets between shops, hotels, restaurants and street traders. Small three wheeled chariots called ‘tuk-tuks’ weaved in and out of the cars, trucks and buses like kamikaze mosquitoes, their passengers grimly gripping the steel bars of the passenger cage that afforded them their only protection.

Once again, the air was filled with the stench of exhaust fumes and a haze of pollution hung above the crowded streets. I was so thankful for the air conditioning, but even that was not enough to prevent all the pollution from entering the taxi.

As I looked out of the window, I was entranced by the sights we passed. A family living in what appeared to be a cardboard shack beneath one of the many road overpasses watched as I passed. People cooked all manner of food on small barbeque trays attached to motorbikes or even bicycles by the side of the road. Street traders selling everything from tee shirts to ball gowns used every inch of the crowded sidewalk. The sights and sounds of Bangkok were already beginning to fascinate me.

One very surprising thing I noticed was that no matter how busy the traffic, no matter how many times a driver was cut up by other road users, no matter how many times a pedestrian was almost killed or how many times horns were sounded no one, and I mean no one, lost their temper. I did not notice one hand gesture, not one mouthed swear word, no blaring of the horn in a sudden fit of anger, not one indication of even the mildest form of road rage. This was incredible and it contrasted so vividly with my recollections of driving back home. In all the chaos of this incredible journey, I did not see one accident, or in fact any sign of an accident.

So many times when driving back home, I would see cars with dents, or glass and debris on the roads, or some other indication that an accident had occurred, but here, where I would have expected a crash a minute, there was nothing.

Even so, I still found it hard to imagine how anyone in their right mind could navigate their way through this jungle of concrete and steel, and my admiration for my driver climbed higher and higher as he calmly avoided yet another suicidal motorcyclist.

Little did I know that in just a few months, it would be me driving through the streets of Bangkok on a motorbike, buzzing and weaving my way in and out of the traffic seemingly without a care in the world!

Unbelievably, we made it all the way to my destination without even a scratch. Admittedly, I had lost about twenty pounds due to perspiration, but I felt that in the end I had got away quite lightly and I knew that, as soon as the shaking stopped, I would be as right as rain.

The hotel my holiday organisers had booked me into was like something from a movie. As we pulled up outside the marble clad steps, a uniformed door attendant opened my door and insisted on carrying my seemingly unworthy rucksack up to the magnificent foyer. Glass reflected from every angle and, combined with the chandeliers and chrome plated metalwork, the place positively shone in the pale marble of the floor tiles. The journey from the airport had taken me through streets lined with poverty to cast me up on the shore of this magnificent debacle of human decadence. The receptionists in their light blue uniforms were altogether far too beautiful and, for some strange reason, I was reminded of light blue icing on a white wedding cake.

“Sawadi Kaa, Khun David.” Once again, I was given a formal greeting together with the graceful, and oh so coy, wai. In Thailand, I was to learn that the first name is more important than the surname and although all Thais have a full name, they use only their given nickname in conversation. The full name is only for official documents like identity cards or driving licences. Likewise, when speaking to foreigners, or ‘farangs’ as all westerners are known in Thailand, only the first name is used with ‘Khun’ as the polite prefix.

Even so, I signed in at reception with my full name and was escorted to my room by the very beautiful Nok, who spoke perfect English and, as I was to learn later, German, Korean, Japanese and even Arabic!

“Is this your first visit to Thailand, Khun David?” she asked, as we entered the elevator.

“Yes it is,” I replied, and added. “Your English is very good. Have you ever been there?”

“No, I have never left Thailand. I learn English in school. Why are you travelling alone?”

I found the directness of her question a little unsettling and even pertinent, but as I was to find out later, there is no beating around the bush with Thai people; when they want to know something personal about you, they just ask.

“I am divorced and have not yet met anyone else,” I answered with a smile.

“You will not be alone in Thailand for long. You are a handsome farang,” she said, with a smile of her own that made my knees go weak. Was she flirting with me? I hoped she was!

“Thank you. I am not sure I believe you, but thank you all the same,” I said, and for the first time in my life actually felt somewhat shy. This was a feeling I was going to have to get used to over the next few weeks.

“Okay. You will see,” she said, and that was the end of the conversation.

She graciously showed me my room and left without saying another word. Although intrigued by Nok’s attitude, my needs for a shower and a change of clothing were greater than my curiosity and I set about my ablutions with enthusiasm. My first few hours in Thailand had certainly been different to what I had expected, but to be honest, and as I said before, I had not really known what to expect.

I went to bed that evening looking forward with eager anticipation to the rest of my holiday. I was exhausted from my journey and so it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep, especially as the constant droning of the air conditioner, as it fought to lower the temperature to that resembling a January evening in England, was strangely soothing. One thought did cross my mind as I drifted off though, that of Nok calling me a handsome farang. Little did I know at the time what constitutes ‘handsome’ in the eyes of a Thai woman!

The following morning I awoke at nine-thirty feeling refreshed and ready to get out and about. I had organised with my travel agent that this should be a free day without any activities in order to relax and recover from the journey, but I felt fine and wanted to explore a little of Bangkok on my own.

I showered and, dressed in sensible shorts and polo shirt, went down to the restaurant for breakfast. The menu offered me such a vast selection of food that I was spoilt for choice. I couldn’t believe that things like quails eggs and tiger prawns, both delicacies in England, would be proffered on a breakfast menu. I ate my fill of exotic fresh fruits, followed by a full English breakfast all washed down with copious amounts of fresh coffee before making my way out onto the street.

Within seconds, I was drenched in sweat. The temperature was in the high thirties and the humidity must have been close to saturation! My sensible shorts and polo shirt stuck to my body like a second, most irritating, skin and I only made it about thirty metres down the road before turning back to the coolness of my hotel. No wonder there were so many taxis, motorbike taxis and the little three wheeled tuk-tuks in Bangkok; it was just too hot and humid to walk anywhere!

Upon reaching the safe haven of my air-conditioned hotel, I decided that perhaps it would be better to wait for the cool of the evening before venturing out of doors.

“Too hot for you, Khun David?” I recognised the voice immediately and turned to see Nok smiling at me.

“Ah, yes, Nok. Far too hot. In England now it is winter,” I explained.

“Yes. Maybe you wait for night time, it will be cooler then,” she told me.

“I had decided to do just that.” I laughed, and asked her if I could get a cool drink.

“Of course. Sit there and I will bring you whatever you want,” she said, with what I am sure was a twinkle in her eye.

“Okay. A cola would be great right now thanks,” I said, trying not to smile.

When I was younger, and before I was married, I would attempt to chat up girls that I thought attractive and would believe my persuasive charms had won through to their hearts. I am a lot wiser these days and now know it is the woman who decides if anything is going to happen long before the man ever realises that something has even started! Now I just try to be myself and hope that the woman I like will feel the same about me and will ensure we get to know each other better.

When Nok returned with my drink, we engaged in a few moments of conversation, during which I found out about her ability to speak many languages and the fact that she did not come from Bangkok but a place called Isaan. I didn’t have a clue where this was but she explained that it was out in the country somewhere northeast of Bangkok.

She had to work in the capital as her hometown did not have enough jobs that paid well enough to support her and her parents. I assumed that her parents must have been unwell or old or something and that she had to support them. She was gently spoken and used her hands to emphasise certain points she was making as she spoke. Her face was oval, her eyes, dark brown and, although her long black hair was tied back, I could imagine it cascading about her shoulders when let down. She was, without any doubt, lovely to look at and had a smile that would captivate the hardest of hearts. I was happy just to sit and talk to this delightful woman, but unfortunately she had to leave.

“Khun David. I must go back to work now. Sawadi Kaa,” she said, and gave me the famous Thai wai. I was disappointed that our conversation had to end, but stood as I had always done when a woman was leaving my presence.

“Thank you, Nok. I hope we speak again,” I said, and gave back what I thought was a wai of my own.

The startled expression on her face shocked me somewhat, but it soon turned to a smile and she turned quickly away from me and walked back to the reception desk. I hoped the expression I saw was only one of surprise and that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had to remind myself that I was a stranger in this country and that perhaps I should not try to emulate the gestures shown to me.

As soon as I finished my drink, I went off to explore the hotel and found that on the third floor annex there was a swimming pool. Gathering my towel and trunks I spent the rest of the day lounging beside the cool water and taking a swim every few minutes when the sun became unbearably hot.

It was around six that evening when I returned to my room to get ready for the evening. During my brief foray into the city that morning, I had spotted a bar up the street that looked, well, excuse the pun, right up my street. I decided that after my evening meal I would take a look and see if it was any good. It certainly wasn’t too far to stroll now that the sun had gone down.

I enjoyed an amazing meal of a seafood platter in the hotel and silently thanked my travel agent for suggesting only half board. The meals were so good I don’t think I could have managed three in one day.

Dressed casually in chinos, cotton shirt and deck shoes, I wandered up the road towards the bar I had seen earlier and wasn’t disappointed when I walked in. Gullivers was one of those trendy, sports-bar type places, with a television in every corner each showing different sports from around the world. In the main bar, an old Chevrolet, perched on top of a large steel pole, gently spun in a slow circle whilst guests sipped their drinks below. The bar itself was a long eclipse of polished wood that meandered around the floor space. Bar stools lined the bar and it was into one of these that I took my seat and ordered a cold bottle of beer.

The atmosphere was modern and trendy but without the normal eardrum-bursting music of the fashionable bars back in England. The music was a pretty good mix of modern and classic rock as well, some motown thrown in for good measure. Toward the back of the bar there were two or three pool tables, and I could make out some very pretty girls playing pool with some older western guys. In fact, as I came to look around at the clientele, I noticed that there were quite a lot of older guys with, seemingly, very young girls.

Two girls sat near to me seemed to find my appearance amusing as they spent a lot of time looking over at me. They giggled away to each other in Thai with their hands over their mouths as though they were hiding some secret they needed to keep. I pretended not to notice and instead focused on one of the many televisions that was, fortunately, covering the latest from the Australian test cricket rather than football. After a short time, I felt the attention of the two girls waiver and finally disappear altogether as my failure to react triggered their boredom threshold. I felt I was able to look around once more without calling too much attention to myself. Strange how the English want to have a good look at everything, but are extremely wary of being caught doing so, and in fact back home can get into a lot of trouble if seen to be looking too attentively at anyone in a pub. I resumed my close inspection of the bar, ensuring that I didn’t catch the eye of anyone and that nobody noticed me looking at them.

“Hello mate. You from England then?” said a voice to my right.

Turning in my seat, I caught sight of the speaker, a man who looked in his early fifties. He was wearing shorts, flip-flops and a scruffy tee shirt expounding the fact that he had once got drunk in a bar, in a place called Koh Samui or something like that. His thinning hair was combed over to one side in an effort to hide a fast expanding bald patch and his enormous stomach proved that his tee shirt was definitely not one of a kind.

The amazing fact about him was that sitting on his far side was a lovely young woman about half his age and dressed to his exact opposite in an obviously expensive and tastefully cut dress that clung to her slim body.

“Yes I am. Just arrived here today actually,” I replied.

“Yeah thought so. I can always spot a newbie from the motherland,” he said, in a broad Australian accent.

“Motherland?” I said, being a trifle slow on the uptake.

“Yeah. You know, England!” he said, and laughed.

I had to laugh with him, not just out of politeness but also because I missed the obvious joke, and anyway I quite liked the guy. His smile was broad and friendly as he introduced himself to me as Arnie, originally from Brisbane, and we shook hands. I wasn’t introduced to his lady friend.

“I guess you’ve been here a while then, Arnie?” I asked him.

“Yeah, you got that right mate. Four years now and I‘m still here,” he answered, taking another swig from his beer bottle.

He went on to tell me that he had come here for a holiday, fell in love with the place, went back home, sold everything he owned and came back out permanently. “Well as permanently as immigration will allow,” he said.

Arnie told me how he had to apply for a new visa every year and even then had to leave the country every ninety days to get his passport stamped. To be honest I didn’t really understand much of what he was saying on that particular subject and did not want to complicate things by asking him about it. Suffice to say that he made it obvious it was all a waste of time in his opinion.

“So how long are you here for, Dave?” he asked.

“Three weeks. I’ve booked to go to Pattaya, Chiang Mai, Phuket and some sight seeing around Bangkok,” I told him.

“Well, drink up mate and I’ll show you some sights around Bangkok tonight!” he said with a laugh, and drained his bottle.

We paid for the drinks and left the bar with Arnie leading, his girlfriend following and me bringing up the rear. Arnie hailed a tuk-tuk as soon as we hit the street and we all piled into the small back seat that was decidedly overloaded between the three of us, especially as Arnie must have been the equivalent of two people by himself!

He told the driver the street name and we set off into the still heavy traffic, weaving in and out to avoid anything that might impede our passage. I hung on for dear life as we sped along with the little machine threatening to spill us onto the road at any moment. Arnie seemed to find my nervousness most amusing and kept shouting to the driver to go faster, faster!

The smell of the exhaust gases once again filled my nostrils, but this time I kept my mouth closed to avoid the dust and dirt entering my throat. Arnie seemed impervious and spent the whole trip calling for the driver to go faster, laughing out loud at my continued distress.

There was another, very distinctive, smell besides those of diesel and petrol exhausts and upon closer inspection, I realised that our tuk-tuk ran on gas. I could see the butane bottle hanging out of the side of the carriage and watched in horror as it threatened to leave its harness whenever we sped around a corner. The thought of an open butane cylinder spinning off down the road in this heavy traffic was almost as worrying as a golf ball hitting a jet engine!

I needn’t have worried, however, as within a few minutes we arrived at our destination. We had travelled a total of about five hundred metres and I wondered why we hadn’t just walked; it wouldn’t have taken much longer and would have saved us the horrendous ride. Then I remembered my earlier walk that morning, and decided that it was better to risk life and limb than to walk too far in what was still a very hot and sticky climate.

Arnie led us into a narrow street that was packed with small bars, each about four meters square and each with its own selection of music blaring out from huge loudspeakers. Every conceivable type of lighting effect emanated from each bar and combined with the music it reminded me of a fair ground with each ride competing for the maximum number of passengers. What I didn’t notice at first, but did very soon after entering the street, was the number of scantily clad girls lining the outside of the bars and calling to the farangs walking by to join them for a drink.

Arnie led us to a bar on the right hand side of the street and we perched ourselves on barstools.

“This is a good bar, mate. The girls here are real lookers. We’ll have a couple here then I’ll show you a go-go bar or two, ok?” said Arnie, as an attractive girl, in the shortest mini skirt I had ever seen, approached us and took our order of two beers and a gin and tonic.

“Arnie, I don’t want to be rude, but what is your girlfriend’s name?” I asked him.

“That’s not my girlfriend, Dave. She’s my wife. Her name’s Tan,” he answered.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know,” I said, nodding toward Tan.

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Arnie laughed, and started on the cool beer.

I never did get to talk to Tan, or even be introduced, as a few moments later she whispered something to Arnie, nodded a smile at me, and left the bar.

“She’s off home, mate. Too much for her all this noise. Still we can get some drinking in now right?” Arnie told me, and ordered another couple of beers.

I was in for quite a few shocks that night as Arnie and I went from bar to bar meeting girl after girl and drinking beer after beer. By the time we got to the fifth or sixth bar, I was half way to drunk, but Arnie still seemed up for more.

“Tell you what, Dave, you want to quit the beer and go on to shorts. See, the beer’s too much for the gut you know?” he told me, and laughed aloud as he smacked his own enormous beer quenching stomach.

I laughed with him and did indeed move onto a local whiskey mixed with cola. I learned a lot that night from Arnie and the various girls we met. I learned that the girls were working the bars because farangs paid more than Thai men. I learned that the go-go bars were places where young women danced around poles on a stage with numbers on their extremely small g-strings and that if you ordered the number at the bar, the girl would join you. I learned that it didn’t matter if you were young or old, handsome or ugly, fat or slim. The only thing that mattered was whether you had money or not. I learned that to take a girl back to your hotel would cost about two thousand baht, about twenty five pounds sterling. I learned that Arnie had taken me to an area in Bangkok where money spoke the loudest and I learned a new phrase I would hear repeatedly in Thailand: “No money, no honey”.

I learned that most Thai women were available to farangs for the right amount of cash and I learned that it wasn’t just the farang males that enjoyed the company of the young Thai girls; western women often came to the bars and left with a girl. I learned that most farang men came to Thailand because of the willingness of the girls to have sex with them and I learned that most of the Thai massage parlours dotted around Bangkok were really places where men could go when the bars were closed.

I learned that most visitors to Bangkok were single, middle-aged, males and I learned that many of the girls came from Isaan. I learned many things that night with Arnie, but I think the most important thing I learned was that the local Thai whiskey was extremely powerful stuff, and as we were about to enter our third go-go bar, I passed out!

When I woke up the following morning, I was in my hotel room, fully dressed and lying on my bed. How I got back to the hotel, I could not remember, but amazingly I seemed to be safe and sound, apart from the pounding in my head and the dryness in my mouth and throat. I was suffering from an extremely bad hangover and would not feel much better until the following day, but even so, I had to get up and get moving.

I was booked on a sight seeing tour that morning to visit the Kings Palace and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. I would have been quite content to remain in my room and suffer in silence, but I knew that the tour guide would be calling for me soon and I was obliged to be ready and show willing.

As soon as I lifted my head from the pillow, the telephone rang.

“Yes, hello.” My voice was hoarse and cracked as I spoke.

“Sawadi Kaa, Khun David. Your tour guide is here.” Nok’s voice sounded like honey, if honey could speak.

“Okay, Nok. Thank you. I’ll be about ten minutes,” I rasped down the telephone.

Twenty minutes later, and still feeling very poorly, I staggered into the foyer. Looking around I saw a woman speaking with Nok and, as I approached, she turned and gave the usual Thai greeting. This time I did not want to embarrass myself by emulating her and instead shook hands and said hello.

She introduced herself as Karn and apologised for being a little early to collect me. This threw me a little because, if anything, she was on time and I was late. It should have been me apologising surely. A quick glance toward Nok allowed me to see the quick and almost imperceptible nod of her head telling me to accept what was being said.

“No problem, Karn,” I said, and added. “It was a rush to be ready, but thank you for being early as we will be able to see more.”

The smiles from both Karn and Nok confirmed that this was most acceptable and that there was nothing more to be said on the subject of timing.

“Khun David, you are feeling well this morning?” Nok asked.

From the look she gave me, I could tell that she had heard about the state I was in when brought back to the hotel in the early hours of the morning.

“Well enough for now, thank you, Nok,” I said with a wan smile, and followed Karn out to the waiting mini bus.

For the rest of the day, the very knowledgeable Karn entertained me as she guided me around the King’s Palace, the museum, the temple of the Emerald Buddha and the Temple of the Reclining Buddha. She told me all about the background of the Royal Family and how they were considered sacred because of their connection to King Rama.

Apparently, King Rama had led the Thai army against the Burmese when they had tried to invade Thailand. He had used elephant cavalry against them and pictures depicting this colossal battle were everywhere in the temples and museum. Unfortunately, I began to lose track of the story of how the giants came from the heavens to help Rama, but I thought that the dazzling paintings of the battle scenes were marvellous.

As the day passed, I kept thinking about the previous evening. Surely all the things I had been told about Thai women could not be right? Surely, they were not all for sale in that way?

“Khun David. You want to stop now for a drink?” Karn asked, bringing me back from my thoughts.

I was still feeling hung-over and a long, cool drink was just what I needed. We bought orange juice from the nearest vendor and sat in the shade of a tree on little wooden benches.

“How long have you been a guide, Karn?” I asked.

“I work here in Bangkok for three years now. Before I work in Chiang Mai,” she answered.

“I’m going to Chiang Mai tomorrow,” I told her, and we sat and talked for a while about what I would be doing there.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask about Thai life and about the things I had been told the previous night, but could not overcome my English reserve to get to the point.

“Do you come from Bangkok or Chiang Mai?” I asked.

“No, I come from Isaan. It is north of Bangkok,” she told me.

This place called Isaan again, I thought to myself. It seemed that all the women came from Isaan. I decided that when I got back to the hotel I would look it up on a map to see exactly where it was. In the meantime, I could glean some information from Karn.

“Oh, that’s the same place that Nok comes from,” I said.

“Yes. Many girls come from Isaan to work in the cities.”

“Is there no work in Isaan then?” I asked.

“Not too much work. The money is not so good. I earn enough here to send home for my Mama and Papa,” Karn told me.

“You send money home to your parents?” I asked

“Yes. They need money to buy house.”

I tried to get this straight in my head but failed completely. It was just too far outside of my own culture and I could not comprehend a place where mothers and fathers sent their daughters off to strange cities to earn money that they then sent home. Maybe it was okay for girls like Karn and Nok, but what about the girls from the bars, that couldn’t be right could it? I decided to get to the point.

“Last night I met girls from Isaan who work in bars,” I told Karn.

“Many girls from Isaan work as bar girls. They make a lot of money,” she said.

“Yes, but do they send home the money to their parents?” I asked.

“Oh yes. All girls send money for parents,” Karn said.

“But don’t the parents care that their daughters are working in bars?” I asked.

“They think daughter works in hotel. Not many do. Most work bars.”

She told me that really the parents do know that their daughters are working in the bars, but they choose to believe that they are really working in a hotel. The daughter also chooses to believe that her parents think she works in a hotel, when really both the parents and the daughter are all fully aware of how the girl is making money. The most important thing is that she is making money.

This had been going on for years. Most of the girls’ mothers had earned their money entertaining the American troops on leave from Vietnam or Cambodia. As long as everyone kept sticking their heads in the sand, then prostitution, which is illegal in Thailand, could not possibly be happening.

I really enjoyed myself touring the city with Karn that day. She had an easy and relaxed manner that made it possible for me to learn much more about Thailand and its people. She told me that not all girls in Thailand were available for sex and that the majority frowned upon such behaviour. I was relieved to hear this, as I didn’t want to think of Nok in that way.

So what I had learned the previous night was not the whole truth. Prostitution did flourish in certain areas, but they seemed to be only those places that the farangs visited. Places like Bangkok, Pattaya, Chiang Mai and Phuket! All the places I was going to visit! I began to think about my behaviour the previous night. Was I just another farang with money who had no real respect for Thailand and was only looking for cheap and easy sex? I didn’t think so, and I certainly hadn’t taken a girl back to the hotel with me, but I didn’t even want to appear like a typical, middle aged, male farang!

When we returned to the hotel, I said farewell to Karn and thanked her for a most pleasant day. She, in turn, thanked me for taking such an interest in her country and took her leave. When I turned and walked to the foyer, I saw Nok looking at me with a smile on her face. I decided to take the bull by the horns and go and talk to her uninvited.

“Hello, Nok. Are you still working? You seem to be here all the time,” I said to her.

“Yes still working, Khun David. Did you have a good time?” she asked.

I didn’t know if she was referring to the previous night or the day touring the city, so I just answered about the day and told her how lovely I found the temples and palace. She nodded politely as I described how I had entered the shrine of the Emerald Buddha, and she smiled when I told her I was a bit confused about the giants.

“You come back alone last night,” she stated, as I finished my story. Again, I was shocked at the directness of her conversation.

“Yes. At least I think so. I am not too sure how I got back, to be truthful,” I told her, honestly.

“Your big friend helped you.”

I thought Arnie must have helped and I wondered about how to contact him again to say thanks. As it turned out, I never did meet Arnie again, but I feel sure that he’s out there somewhere, showing another newbie the ropes and, at the same time, increasing his wardrobe of extra large tee shirts.

I decided it was time to be just as direct with Nok as she was with me.

“Are you married, Nok?” I asked her.

“Oh, David. You not ask that about Thai lady!” She replied, but with a smile, and I couldn’t help but note that the Khun had been dropped from my name.

“You asked me before,” I said.

“Yes, but you are a farang,” she said.

I have to admit to being a little taken aback by this comment.

“You think it’s okay to ask a farang, but not okay for a farang to ask you?” I asked her.

“Yes. Of course,” she said.

The conversation went on for a few more minutes, but I didn’t find out anything about her except that she worked a twelve-hour shift, six days a week, and had been doing so for the last year.

“Next month I go home for two weeks holiday,” she told me.

I thought about how we complain back home if we have to work eight hours a day for five days. And if we didn’t get at least five weeks holiday a year, we would be up in arms!

We had to finish talking then, as some guests arrived. Nok had to see to their needs, and I returned to my room to shower and change for dinner.

That evening I decided to stay in and get some much-needed rest to be ready for my flight to Chiang Mai in the morning. Anyway, I still felt bad from the night before. The drone of the air conditioner worked its magic and I dreamt of giants on elephants chasing pretty young girls wearing mini skirts. Strange, but at the same time quite erotic!

(End of Chapter 1.)

David Thompson

© David Thompson. All rights reserved by the author.

ISBN: 974-94830-5-7

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