The Archive

Unhumbled

1st January - Evening
We headed into Bankok in the early evening.

Bankok is a very different proposition to Koh Samui. You can go ignored in Bankok, unlike on the islands. Nobody offers you massages or new suits as you walk by. It’s all cold and anonymous. Which is ace as far as I’m concerned.

And when I say cold, I do mean it literally. Not the weather of course, it’s toasty warm outside and I’m just as sweaty here as I have been for the rest of the trip so far.

The difference is that in Bankok they have air conditioning and they are not afraid to use it. Every enclosed space, most notably the metro train system, is air conditioned to sub zero temperatures such that you have to take a big jumper out with you in 30 degree heat just in case you find yourself catching a train.

It’s like giving a teenager a stereo system. Just because the volume goes up to ten, doesn’t mean that’s the level you should use it at all the time eh? There’s a good Thai.

Amazingly, I recovered from my cold despite Bankok’s best efforts, incidentally.

So we wander the streets for a while having a look around and noting that, what with the ubiquitous advertising and the astonishingly annoying speakers blaring out audio adverts at the same time, the whole deal bears a striking similarity to the opening scenes of Blade Runner.

Which is why I shot that street vendor. I was sure he was a replicant, I swear.

Ok, maybe I didn’t shoot anyone (seriously, Mr Thai policeman, it wasn’t me), but we did have dinner, which is nearly as exciting (including some local ice cream that came in seven different flavours, not one of which was a fruit I had ever heard of, but which proved to be delicious).

And then to Pat Pong, sex capital of Asia. I was ready for anything. I was ready to have my mind blown, among other things.

What a disappointment.

Now I should probably say here that is wasn’t really the area’s fault. I was offered plenty of opportunities to see a woman firing ping pong balls without the aid of a large pea shooter. But I just couldn’t do it.

They called it a sex show, but what kind of sex is it your having if your contribution is to sit around watching her magic up items out of body cavities? Sure, I can see the appeal if you were looking for a drug courier, but that’s just not sexy to me.

And I know that’s not really the point, but behind it all I figured it wasn’t something I would pay to see in the UK, so why spend money to see it in Asia, just because it’s the done thing? Truthfully, all I could think of was some poor village girl heading to Bankok to make her fortune, wondering how she ended up lying on her back performing a trick which, to be fair, would probably win her a goldfish at any village fete in England (you know, the ping pong ball in the jamjars game).

And yes, I know it’s tough to square that with my willingness to get a handjob from a masseuse, but you know what? Fuck you. That’s my counterargument.

So, we ended up talking to a tout who offered us a brothel with 150 girls, but instead ended up taking us to a kosher massage place for a couple of hours of Thai massage (which I am really getting to enjoy, by the way. I just love all the stretchy stuff.) After that, we just had a beer on the street at Pat Pong and watched the world go by.

And in Pat Pong you can do that literally. A casual census revealed at least five foreigners to every Thai in the area, with examples from Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia all easily found. And yes, I realize we were two of the foreigners as well, but you know what? Fuck you. And you’re fat. And ugly. That’s my counterargument.

So I suppose the point of all this is that Bankok was OK, but doesn’t merit a number one hit single necessarily. One night my arse.

2nd January – Bye Thai
It’s the last day in Thailand, so a good opportunity to check out the temples, museums and cultural sights of the city.

Is it bollocks. We went back to the massage place from yesterday and had another hour of hands-on relaxation before lunch.

This time we tried the oil massage (it’s generally offered in Thai and oil varieties, although in one place deep in the gay district we saw cream massage being offered. We didn’t ask what that was, but hurried off on our way looking at the floor).

The oil massage was much more like a regular massage, with more rubbing and fewer wrestling moves stretching your limbs and joints so you end up an inch taller than you started.

Consensus was that Thai is better, although there is something rather more sexual about being rubbed all over with oil, so I guess if you’re looking for the, er, fuller experience, oil might be better.

So, after the massage, we met up with a Thai friend of Maneesh who took us to lunch. A lovely girl, she’d just quit her job to do some traveling before starting a whole new life. Smart girl.

But you know where, when in Thailand, with a girl from Thailand, who was born and raised in Thailand, we ended up going?

Starbucks.

Well, that’s the big city for you.

Anyway, she was a lovely girl and was good company until it was time to get on the plane and head off to Hong Kong.

2nd January – Made in Hong Kong
Arrived in Hong Kong airport and jumped onto the train to the city. It was at this early point that the difference between Hong Kong and Thailand became clear. Much like Japan, this is one of those countries that has technology taking care of you down to the tiniest detail.

For example, the train doesn’t just tell you what the next station is. It also gives you a little graphic with a train going along the line telling you exactly how far along the journey you are.

It’s like that with everything. If you’re doing something and it seems difficult, it’s worth stopping and reviewing the situation because you’re probably overlooking a little button somewhere that says ‘press this to solve all your problems instantly’.

We got to Maneesh’s apartment pretty easily as a consequence, and I must say it’s an amazing place. Being on the top (42nd) floor of the building is pretty fucking cool and the view of the city out of the window is awesome.

In fact, it’s sort of the perfect place for impressing girls, it’s so beautiful. So now I’m worried Maneesh is going to try to seduce me.

Still, it’s cheaper than a hotel, so I’ll take the risk. And in return for his hospitality, I am helping Maneesh out by drinking all the beer in the place.

Seriously.

He’s got loads of booze left over from a party he had recently and Maneesh does not really drink.

I know, I know, I once said I could never really trust someone who doesn’t drink, but he’s earned his stripes so I’ve made an exception. Perhaps more interesting is why he bothers hanging out with me, seeing as a typical night will be an hour or two conversation, two further hours mostly swearing, then a final hour or two of incomprehensible slur.

Anyway, Maneesh doesn’t drink, but he’s got beer left over from his party clogging up his flat. So I’m pitching in with my special skills to help alleviate the problem. The question is, should I charge him for this service?

So, it’s getting late when we get back and we’re a bit tired, so Pizza Express and a DVD (another little Thai number, sample subtitling…”how very generous of me” translates to “very general sound to me”) and off to bed.

Goodnight all.

posted by Peter The Great @ 12:54 AM