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Within a cosy catacomb beneath the balcony, a Singapore-style long-bar anchors the back wall. The drinking is purposeful, the potions strong. Wild tales of intrigue are being swapped by nefarious characters and hardened Bangkok regulars. Deals are being made and lives are being changed. Steps away from shadow, there is light. The ceiling suddenly reaches skyward to tower over the stage, dance floor, and D.J. booth. Tourists sip colourful cocktails and sway to a lively rock & roll band. The split-level design appeals on a strangely emotional level. Spinning and churning, as though liberated by the room’s dual personalities, they crowd the dance floor. Upstairs, the timid find succour on the open grill; spices and sauces and smoky flame licked morsels.

Welcome to Noriega’s Bar, new and yet familiar, where the tarnish of experience furnishes an ironic lustre to Bangkok ’s colourful nightlife. It’s a short walk from the Saladaeng skytrain station near the intersection of Silom Road and Convent. Nestled at the end of an inviting one-block street known as Pat Pong Four, Noriega’s is a refreshing retreat from the tawdry flesh-pits Pat Pong is better known for.

The street itself retains a lot more character for the discerning curiosity seeker than its one-dimensional cousins a short walk away. Pat Pong One and Two, though the most famous of Bangkok’s streets, are also the most trying; lined with go-go bars and massage parlours, and cluttered nightly with an almost impassable tangle of hawkers pushing black market knock-offs of everything under the tropical sky. Any charm these streets once had is now drowned out in the pointless thumping of techno and crushed under a creeping mosh-pit of gawking tourists. The closest neighbour, Pat Pong Three, is merely a gay version of the same scene: tourism run amuck.

For the newcomer, the Pat Pong ‘spectacle’ is still a must-see, but discovery of real character in the Bangkok street scene lies on Pat Pong Four. It’s here that ravers mix with tourists and gender benders in a tolerant mosaic spilling out from street-side cafes to border the way with friendly faces rather than pushy flesh-peddling doormen. For a measure of good old fashioned rock & roll the faithful are drawn to its north end, to Noriega’s, Bangkok ’s burgeoning shrine to the twin gods of rhythm and blues.

As I sit in Noriega’s, in the comfortable nook between the hardwood bartop and the smoked-glass windows viewing the street, I can’t help recall how excited I’d been, years earlier, to visit the famous Long Bar at Raffles Hotel in . I remember also, my disappointment. It had been one of the most famous bars in the world. Named after Sir Stamford Raffles, founder of modern , it was there that writers like Joseph Conrad and Somerset Maugham had drank away writer’s block while decisions of empire were discussed by men in white linen suits beneath teak wood ceiling fans. It was there that China Lilly gazed at men from her canvas behind the bar, inducing thoughts of what might have been as they sipped bartender Ngiam Tong Boon’s delicate invention, the Singapore Sling. But by the time I got there, it was all lost. China Lilly was sealed up tight in a vacuum chamber, the Slings came in glasses that you had the option of buying, and all the original wood, after surviving both drunken novelists and Japanese occupation, had all been replaced. Sadly, the joint couldn’t survive the realisation of its own tourist appeal; it had become a corporate asset. What once had been a temple was now meaningless and antiseptic.

That was then and this is now; this is Bangkok , still gritty, still cutting close to bone. The atmosphere in Noriega’s is thick enough to hack at with a machete. Old favourites ring from electric guitars, Baht changes hands, people move, tales are told. The room is big enough to really tie one on and small enough just for a beer. There’s that vicarious appeal that Vegas once had, the feeling that while it’s a haven for tourists, the guy next to you could be an international spy or a gangland killer.

Sipping rice-whiskey, musing over the innovation of a vomitorium in the men’s toilet, it’s clear to me that this is Noriega’s time. The edges are still sharp. There’s nothing glossed over by the aesthetic touch of corporate ownership. The ingredients of legend are woven into everything I see. In years to come I will say, ‘I was there’…back in the old days, back when it was real.

Noriega’s Bar is located at: 106-108 Silom Soi 4 Bangkok, Thailland
It’s on the web at:
www.bangkokhhh.com/noriegas