We have one day to see this massive city and we end up chewing up a post-breakfast chunk of it trying to navigate a pay phone to get in touch with Patrick, an old friend of our accountant and friend Rick, who tells us, "Definitely, get in touch with Patrick; he'll show you some good old fashion Southern California hospitality." This proved entirely correct as when we finally figured out the phone and the actual phone number it rang through, he greeted us merrily, wished us well and hung up.
Next, we are successfully hustled by a "college student," but, as you should trust by now, we turn the tides and get the upper hand. The hustle works like this; a young guy comes up to your obvious tourist selves and starts telling you about the monument, or whatever, that he is standing in front of. He explains that he is a student of some silly bullsh*t and that talking to obviously clueless simps like you is good for his education or something. He then tells you that you can get a nearby tuk-tuk driver to show you a series of Wats (temples) for 60 Baht or about $2.00 USD. Considering the amount of territory he'd be covering, it's certainly a good value. He writes on the map in your book so the driver knows where to take you and at the last moment remembers that some clothing place is having a one day sale you must try and catch. The driver is obviously in on this.
We assert from the start that there will be no shopping and off we go. We do visit the temples, including the world's tallest standing Buddha (which, surprisingly, has a thermometer up his side just like the Bunboy in Baker, CA) and the seated Buddha. Shoes go off and on, we kneel and bow with lighted incense but wish for greedy gain to offset the purity of the gesture.
Finally, our driver pulls up in front of the clothiers and tells us to please go inside and wait for him to go get gas even though we are not shopping. We say no in a way that abbreviates protest and he pulls away angrily to divest himself of our un-conned asses at the Wat Po.
Wat Po is the oldest structure in Bangkok, older in fact than the city itself. It is ornate and beautiful. It is famous, for, among other things, housing the world's largest reclining Buddha. Man, it is one big Buddha! Large, indeed. It is also famous for its school of massage at which we availed ourselves of a 45 min. foot rubbin'. The style is good, and it felt great, but, now that we have been extremely well-rubbed by a host of international professionals, we can tell you, the best acupressure massage either of us has ever gotten was, hands down, Korean style at the Beverly Hot Springs Spa in LA.
It is time now to admit that we did not visit the Grand Palace as every good tourist should. We just didn't care about its history or whatever and we were running out of time. When you are at these places, you are, in a way, not in the city itself. The heavily touristed areas leave you surrounded by people from every country BUT the one you're in, so we tend to opt for street life over monument visiting. Julie decides that a tuk-tuk to Chinatown should cost 60 baht, which is bold considering, outside of the map she's holding, she doesn't have a clue how far it is or what the traffic is like. The Thais, being perfectly awful and mean-spirited negotiators, don't accept her insistence well, make a disgusted face in our general direction and wave us off. But, having been overheard by an extremely old man shuffling slowly down the street, he agrees that the ride should be around 60 baht and now we have a helper when the next tuk-tuk solicits us. We get the ride for 60 baht! (Julie is doing her cabbage patch arm movement while saying, "Oh yeah, that's right, uh-huh." She had conquered the Bangkok tuk-tuks.)
Chinatown in Bangkok, and the adjacent India quarter, could be likened to a filthy Barri Gòtic in Barcelona; the streets all connect to long, narrow alleys that connect to streets and other alleys, etc. etc. Unlike Barcelona, these are not quant little passageways with flower boxes and doorway carvings. These are homes and businesses stuffed into tiny spaces, piled into a footprint the size of a business card. There are entire neighborhoods where scooters move through with maybe a foot or two of clearance on either side. This is tight living.
The restaurant we pick for dinner is Indian... and air conditioned! The only downside is that, once seated, we find that it was recommended by the Rough Guide. What are the odds? Meanwhile the food is good and the air is cold... oh, and so is the Chang.
After we dine, we decide to head over to the Patpong Night Market. No visit to Bangkok would be complete without a trip to this sinner's playground. Having never used the pubic transportation in the city and seeing that the neighborhood seems to lie at the other end of a main artery through the city, we figure a bus should do the trick and head off to catch one. Once on the desired boulevard , we try to ask people waiting for buses about the buses, but English is not commonly spoken here, so we get nothing. It is not until, after the third or forth attempt, we are once again, overheard by a good Samaritan. This one being a young monk of about 25 years-old. His English is not bad (he asks, "Can I hear you?") and he takes on our cause. Watching the people suddenly spring into helpful action when called upon by a monk to do so is pretty amazing! (In Thai society, monks are held only second in respect to the monarachy - and the king here is adored by all.) In seconds we are on the correct bus and arrangements have been made with the conductor (whatever; money taking guy) to tell us where to disembark.
We get off, as prompted, at the Patpong stop. There is no visual evidence of nightlife from where we are standing, but we have been instructed to cross the street and turn a corner. We do, and find ourselves on a street lined with velvet rope-fronted nightclubs. At the entrance of each is a collection of young Asian women (or, in many cases, girls) dressed in "elegant" matching outfits. Doormen welcome gentlemen as they emerge from their taxis, but overall, the area is not welcoming to the unfamiliar. So, after taking a quick gawk around, we look for a sidewalk place to sit and have a beer. The one we find is on a pretty normal stretch of street with only a sprinkling of hookers strolling by and low-end hawkers peddling their crap (like Bic lighters that also emit a picture of a naked lady when the right button is pressed). While sipping our Changs and actually hearing the song "One Night in Bangkok" from the overhead speakers, we notice that the area next to the nightclub directly across the street seems to have some heavier traffic. We cash out and head across to see what's up.
Bingo! Here is the Patpong we were expecting; a bundled circuit of booths pushing knock-offs and low-end impulse buys surrounded by go-go bars. These deep, narrow cookie-cutter clubs consist of a long stage down the middle circled by a bar, circled by some stools, circled by tables on a raised platform finally circled by seating. The doors are open to welcome one and all and barkers flanked by dancers tout drink specials to passers by. There is no lack of attention for couples and we are cajoled as hard as the next guy.
The real push on the street is less for the go-go bars and more for the sex shows that lie behind bends and up secret stairs. The hawkers each carry a laminated card that outlines in the crudest form the amazing things the girls will do using their privates. To quote Spalding Grey's Swimming to Cambodia, as quoted by the Rough Guide, "[They] do everything with their vaginas except have babies." The guys are very good humored, so we drop into the spirit and start messing with them. Here are some exchanges:
Guy 1: You like to see ping-pong ball show?
Steve: I'm not really a sports fan.
Guy 2: You see; girl take banana, grapes...
Julie: We could do that at home.
Steve: We were just looking for a fruit stand.
Guy 3: They do everything, you like.
Steve: I believe the vagina is sacred and should be used only for procreation.
Guy 4: No, no, no; you see boy and girl. They make love.
Julie: Come on, they are not in love!
Finally, we decide to actually pop into a go-go bar and have a beer. Choosing is an odd challenge since, with the exception of the girly-boy club, whose deceptive yet beautiful talent all wear prom dresses this evening, the selection is all but identical, which is not a bad thing per se. We choose the club we will call "Blue," since we don't recall the name and the girls were all wearing blue underthings as their uniforms. We are greeted, seated and treated to the spectacle of some eighteen girls, each wearing a numbered badge for easy ordering, gyrating dutifully, if less than energetically. We order a couple of Singha (the beer on special). The host/waiter does something surprisingly un-clip-jointy and makes sure you understand the price of what you're buying and sign a receipt of sorts before the order is pulled. The beer, at 100 Baht or $3.00 USD is only double the price on the street.
The girls are in many cases riding the line of legal age and in others disturbingly below it. Many of them are beautiful. A loud laugh from Julie snaps Steve out of his blissful daze. Apparently, she has seen his wide, slack-jawed grin in a refection. There is a serious conundrum that presents itself to the conscientious, non-sociopathic heterosexual male here. May of these girls are not here by choice, assuming a teen-aged girl can make an intelligent choice about becoming a prostitute. They may have been tricked into the country and had their passports taken from them, they may have been sold by their achingly poor families or they may be serving a term here to pay down the debts incurred by their family's poverty. None of that information is sexy. But, sexuality is not ruled by the part of the brain that doles out the reason and compassion. It is the reptilian mind, a jumbled collection of thought processors at the top of the spine, that rule such things as sexual urges and it is very powerful. Whiny feelings of empathy run from it like the Japanese from Godzilla. There are six billion people on the planet for a reason.
Steve is singled out for stares and smiles by a couple of the girls (one of which is old enough to make the whole thing feel a tiny, bitty bit less sordid) but it is a tiny Laotian (we later learn that they are all Laotian) with the melodic name of #14 who makes the move... on Julie! Hopping up on the bench-style seat, she leans in and flirts coquettishly, rubbing Julie's arms and playing with her hair. Julie is seriously not into her but is having a good time nonetheless. Never selfish, she shifts things around, placing little #14 between us. #14 asks for a Coke, which we once again get the price of automatically before ordering and at 100 Baht it's not really a hustle! There is some seat dancing and playful arm rubbing, but Steve doesn't want #14 to miss a trick (is that where that saying comes from?) and lets her know that we will not be having a "party," which is hooker talk in America and it translates fine. A half-pirate, half Cambodian, half homeless-looking aging rock star guy walks up right on time to sell us a Polaroid of the moment. Oh yes, we buy it! We slip #14 a little something for her troubles and off we go.
Leaving to get back across town Julie, after getting turned down three different times she, once again, negotiates an impossible tuk-tuk rate. We promise we'll be good farangs (foreigners) with sanuk (fun). Julie sings "Villa Cha Cha" (the name of our hotel) as we ride back and the driver laughs. Since he was so good humored we drop him an extra something.
It is not possible to see a city the size and complexity of Bangkok in a single day, but we have done a pretty good job in the past in London and New York and we think we did a damn good job here.
More thumbnails ...
3 votes 
