One Night in Bangkok
It was just a stopover in Bangkok. I had ten hours to kill. I toyed with the idea of booking myself into one of those airport hotels where you sleep in a shoebox and can watch unlimited cable TV, but then I realised how dumb that seemed – that was ten whole hours I could spend exploring the city. To be completely honest, I didn’t expect much of it. There were only three things that sprung to my mind when I imagined what it would be like: Thai lady massage, ping-pong shows and “Da Boiz on Tour feat. Boxing Kangaroo Tattoos”. Nonetheless, I’ve never given up the opportunity to explore so, that’s exactly that I did.
Getting out of Suvarnabhumi airport was hard: temptations were rife and exit instructions were confusing. Duty-free shops always allure me; the thought, “Omg I could live it up a la Paris Hilton at a fraction of the cost if I go into this store!” always appears in a cloud above my head. But then after spending 10 minutes gazing at everything, I remember duty free is hideous. Post-duty free gaze session, I found myself lost in a frothing-off-Thai-food frenzy. I had to smack myself for noticing I was being completely ridiculous and that this airport was – what do you know – exactly the same as every other in the world and that I should probably shuffle along if I wanted to see Bangkok. One hour later and I was finally lining up in customs.
“Omggggg hurrrry up. Why can’t I just get an express pass? I’m seriously not going to try and find work here guys. My legs hurt. For phooks sake!” said my inner dialogue while I impatiently waited in the 75km-long customs line.
Stop. Shuffle. Stop. Shuffle. Stop. Shuffle. Hand over passport. Act unsuspicious. Be looked at suspiciously. Get passport pages flicked and fondled…. and…. finally through! I was in Thailand. Wow. I was so Eat.Pray.Love. Or was that Bali? Who cares – I was on my way to a Thai lady massage! Oh, how I had longed for a Thai lady massage all my life.
I waited on the train platform towards the city. Overhead was some sort of Asian pop playing on screens next to the departure information. SO TECHNOLOGY! I felt so ignorant – I’d always imagined Bangkok to be much slummier. I gave myself two mental lashes for being a closed-minded ‘strayan and went on to enjoy the remainder of “Sunshine Candy Girl Be Mine” before the train arrived.
My face was glued to the window; the city was amazing. Highrise after highrise flashed past. After a while, I began to become confused about where I actually was. I had absolutely no idea where I was going. There were only two other whiteys in my carriage, so I decided it was only fair to assume following them would lead me to Thai lady massage. The decision paid off: I ended up in Siam, centre of everything tourist trap. Success!
Thai lady massage was calling me, but first I had to fill up. The pang in my stomach had been growing ever since I boycotted my frothing-off-Thai-food frenzy back at the airport. I was torn like Natalie Imruglia between living life to the full and eating fried mush from a street vendor OR entering a slightly more hygienic take-away restaurant for a meal on a plate. The latter made more sense: spewing on a plane is da worst. Inside, I scoffed down some sweet’n’sour chicken cartilage and slurped on a watermelon crush, which sounded much more exotic than it tasted. (Forgot that the main ingredient was water – oops! Luckily, I didn’t get runny poo).
Full up to pussy’s brim, I started my hunt for Thai lady massage. Just as I had suspected it didn’t take long at all. I stumbled upon a street with a ratio of 100:1 of Thai lady masseuses to customers i.e. I was literally the only one in view. With such a wide variety of caress-ready babes to choose from, I walked up and down a few times to make sure the coming experience would be everything I’d ever imagined. Some of the options were seriously morbid: these chicks were totally hating life. When I came across a bunch of giggly gals in pink hanging out on the steps outside their parlour, I knew I’d found my place.
Much to your probable disappointment, I didn’t ask for a happy ending. If it was even an option on the menu, I wasn’t aware. By this point, I was almost three hours down, seven to go, and didn’t want to waste TOO much time (or money) on my massage, so I opted for one-hour leg and foot – yummy.
I’ve often been called “hobbit” by my friends due to the layer of fur that covers my feet. Not only are my feet furry, my legs are covered too. I’m in no way ashamed of them and actually kind of like the rugged masculine feature they bring to my otherwise quite fabulous effeminate being. But after the giggly gals in pink got their cute little hands on them, I soon realised how much of a freak I appeared. My wooly limbs were a far cry from the average Asian man’s wiry, sparsely-covered ones. Soon enough, girls from other parlours were being ushered in to gawk over and giggle at me. I could have been embarrassed, but I took the 500 hands on my legs as a blessing, as it – simply put – felt really good.
A bunch of giggles later, I bid farewell to the giggly gals in pink. I was pretty content with my experience in Bangkok and started lusting over that shoebox hotel back at the airport. I was so ultimately relaxed and rejuv’ed after all that touching that I could think of nothing better than snuggling up in a cozy box. Except for maybe the offer I was given next.
I was standing by the side of the road looking over the city having one of those “Life is so amazing, can’t believe I’m just chilling by myself on the side of the road in Bangkok, omg I just got a Thai lady massage best day of my life” moments, when a tiny little tuk-tuk driver approached me. He asked me how my night was, what I was up to, where I was from etc., then he asked if I’d like to see ping ping ladies. “Ping ping ladies? That sounds an awful lot like ping pong ladies… hmmm,” I thought to myself.
“Do you mean ladies who shoot things out of their vaginas?” I asked the tiny little tuk-tuk driver. He did. He did indeed. Five minutes later and I’m in the back of the tuk-tuk on the way to an undisclosed location. I was extremely nervous about this situation, and as I always do, started playing back possible scenarios in my head.
In one scenario, I actually get to the ping ping lady show, front row; lady ping-pings a ping pong into my mouth, everyone laughs and is merry, my night gets oh-so-much better.
Second one, tiny little tuk-tuk driver takes me to a back alley where I get tied up, roofied, and get my kidneys scissored out of my flesh, get abused by my mum for being such a stupid fool and getting into back of tuk-tuk by myself on the way to a ping ping show in a foreign country.
What actually happened was neither of the above, but sort of a mixture of both the fun of scenario one and fear of scenario two.
So, the tuk tuk pulls up in a back alleyway. Shit. My heart starts racing. The tiny little tuk-tuk driver has a little chuckle at the fact that my face has gone white and reassures me. We get out of the tuk-tuk and walk through the alley to a doorway illuminating a fluorescent light reminiscent of a hospital ward. Inside the room is a few crappy seats, a man at a desk and another doorway behind him. He explains to me that I will see the ping ping lady and that I just have to pay him money first. Ok, I thought: this seems legit I guess, can’t wait to have a ping-pong ball covered in pussy juice in my mouth. So I start opening my wallet and counting my change. Mid-count, the door behind the desk bursts open and five or so Goliath-sized Aussie lads come raging out. “YA FAAAAAARKN YELLOW PRICKS! THAT WASN’T A FARRRRRRRRKN PING PONG SHOW! YOU FARRRRRKN RIPPED US OFF CUNTS! I’LL FARRRRKN FARRRK YOU UP!” I shoved the money straight back in my wallet and stood back. This was a genuinely interesting display, but I most definitely did not want to end up in the middle of the affair. Sure enough, fists started flying, giving me my queue to bail. I hop-skip-jumped out the door and try to swiftly make my way back to the main road. I could hear the “FARKN” and “YELLOW CUNTS” being repeated behind me, but I didn’t dare look back. This was some seriously fight-or-flight mode shit. I was flighting – I was flighting so hard. Then, out of nowhere, tiny little tuk-tuk driver appeared and started abusing me.
“Why you no pay? Pay. Pay now. Ping ping lady! You pay! You see ping ping lady! You pay.”
OMG DUDE. TOTES INNAPROPE. CAN’T YOU SEE I AM FLIGHTING?!
I was cornered by tiny little tuk-tuk driver and his tiny fucking tuk-tuk. I was literally on the verge of shitting my pants, like there was a little bit of poo coming out the hole. The raucous behind me was approaching, and someone else started yelling at me for money. It was the boss of the ping pong club. They were in it together. Bastards! I felt the worst was still to come and stood waiting for those scissors to cut out my kidneys. To my luck though, the Aussie lads preyed on the boss’s friend, so the boss and tiny little tuk-tuk driver went over to help. I saw my chance to escape. I flighted, I flighted so, so hard this time. I got to the main road and hailed a cab.
“The airport. Now!”
I sat in the cab coming down off the biggest adrenaline high of my life, and that shoebox room never seemed so safe. I was on edge the whole way back to the airport, imagining tiny little tuk-tuk driver pushing the NOS button on his tiny fucking tuk-tuk, driving up beside me and shooting me in the face. To my surprise, the whole ordeal only lasted about 20 minutes, and by the time I arrived back I still had a good four hours of possible shut eye. I booked myself into the hotel (sigh of relief).
Sitting on that plane later, I reflected on my time in Thailand. Was it what I imagined? Well yes, I got a Thai lady massage, sort of almost saw a ping pong show and most definitely ran into “Da Boiz on Tour feat. Boxing Kangaroo Tattoos”. I guess I didn’t have enough time to give it a proper chance, but, in light of my experience, I don’t think I’ll be seeing Thailand again for a very long time.