by Andrew Hicks
The tropical night was exotic and steamy, just like the nightlife. Emma would have preferred a walk down one of the quieter sois, a side street of bars, travel agents and hotels, but Ben seemed to know where he wanted to go.
‘So what’s this evil-looking place then?’ she asked him.
‘It’s Nana Plaza … like Patpong but not as sleazy. Gotta see it now we’re here.’
‘Speak for yourself! Looks a hell-hole to me.’
With Emma trailing behind, Ben led the way past stalls selling food from fried insects and bamboo grubs to spicy Thai curries. In the open-air bars on the ground floor, they could see beer-swilling western men being minded by bar girls and beyond in a three-storeyed building, the air-conditioned go-go bars, their names flaunted in garish neon signs; ‘Caligulas’, ‘San Francisco Strip.’ ‘Big show now on.’
‘I wouldn’t mind somewhere with aircon,’ said Ben. ‘And maybe with a show.’
‘Aircon’s fine but what sort of show?’
‘No idea Emm, but we’ll only find out if we give it a go.’
‘Amazing Thailand, my arse … none of this was in the brochures,’ she said bitterly.
She followed Ben up the stairway to the open gallery on the first floor where they crossed to the balustrade and looked down onto the rubbish strewn roofs of the bars below. Rangy cats prowled nearby and stared at them with wary eyes.
‘Come on Emm, let’s have a look in the bars then,’ said Ben.
‘Do we really have to,’ moaned Emma.
Walking down the gallery they passed a group of girls sitting on tin stools around folding tables, unselfconsciously doing each others’ hair and make-up and eating rice from styrofoam takeaway boxes. At the first bar, the touts tried to stop them going past, throwing back the curtain across the open doorway for them to see inside.
‘Welkaam, sir … take a look, sir. No cover charge.’
Through the curtain they got their first glimpse of a go-go bar. Lit with flickering purple lights and pulsating with music, it was almost empty of customers. Emma’s eye was compelled by the girls in backless thongs, dancing around poles on a raised platform in the middle of the room, some of them flabby and overweight. Detesting the touts who were all over her, she backed away from the door, trying to make her escape.
‘No Ben, I’m not going in there,’ she said.
‘Nor me … the girls look like you since you put on all that weight.’ Emma bit her lip and pretended not to have heard him.
As they went further along the gallery, they were set upon by touts at each doorway, one a dwarf in a Mexican hat.
‘Come inside sir … lovely girls, lesbian fucking show.’
A glance through the curtains confirmed that the bars were much the same, a place to drink and pick a girl.
Outside the last door, several bar girls were spread across the walkway, lounging around on stools. In tight G-strings and flouncey dresses, they were bizarre, almost witch-like. Suddenly Ben twigged and rushed past, afraid to make eye contact. This was the gay bar; these were the fabled ladyboys he had been reading about.
‘Bugger me if I’d go anywhere near that lot,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘But what’s the difference, Ben? It’s just the same … sex for sale.’
They hastily made for the stairs up to the next floor, the air super-heated from the air conditioners that vented into the stairwell.
‘Hey, this bar looks livelier,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s have a quick beer.’
‘Suppose I can’t stop you!’ complained Emma.
And so she found herself reluctantly sitting in the G-String bar on their first night in Bangkok, confronting a varied assortment of bare breasts. At first she sat awkwardly upright, while Ben leaned forward, his elbows on the seat backs in front for a better view. He was living out his ultimate fantasy.
As the girls clung to their poles, sometimes chatting and joking with each other, the music pounded incessantly; “It’s my life … it’s now or never, and I ain’t gonna live forever!” A few danced vigorously, undulating their bodies up and down the pole in a sinuous rhythm, eyeing their reflections in the mirrors that lined the walls, but most looked terminally bored.
The customers were mainly tourists, including a number of couples. Emma guessed that like Ben, they claimed to be there because Bangkok’s nightlife just has to be seen. Though as she glanced round she could also see several single men with girls draped over them who were clearly not there for spectator sport only.
When there was a break in the music, the girls sitting with customers got up and changed places with the dancers on stage, revealing to Ben the mystery of the disappearing knickers.
‘Now I get it,’ he said. ‘They slip a leg out and shove their pants down the top of the other thigh boot! Cunning eh, Emm?’
Emma was not impressed.
As Ben watched in fascination, two girls in blue bikinis who had just finished dancing casually came and sat alongside him. The nearer one whispered something into his ear, took his hand and began to massage it firmly with both of hers. Emma, sitting the other side of him, was appalled.
‘What you name?’ asked the girl.
‘I’m Ben,’ he replied. ‘And what’s yours?’
‘My name Porn.’ Ben tried not to laugh.
As Porn then began to rub his thigh, Emma looked on in anger and disgust; she felt she had become invisible to both of them. Ben was now eye to eye with his temptress who was trying to say something to him about cola. Stirred by the spread of her thighs and the cleft of her bust he broke into a sweat. Porn picked up a drinks menu and started fanning him furiously.
‘You buy lady drink? Cola for my friend,’ she asked him sweetly. Emma was quick to figure out that as well as selling their bodies, their job was to sell drinks. Seething with barely contained indignation, she turned and dug Ben hard in the ribs. Porn, realising she was onto a loser, gave up on him and moved away.
‘Christ Ben, I’ve had enough of this,’ said Emma.
‘Enough of what?’
‘How could you let her do that right in front of me. You were just lapping it up.’
‘Couldn’t stop her,’ he said feebly.
‘Do you have absolutely no respect for me?’
‘Course I have,’ he said, with a grin on his face, still staring at the dancers.
‘Like hell, you do! I’ve had it up to here!’ Abruptly she jumped up from her seat and stormed off, disappearing into the crowded bar.
Baffled by her recent moodiness and reluctant to miss the show, Ben did not attempt to follow her.
Emma was thinking of dumping him and going straight back to the guesthouse, but first she had to make for the toilet at the far end of the bar. To her dismay she found it packed with men and go-go dancers waiting silently in line for the stalls, as disengaged as office workers queuing for the photocopier. When at last she closed the toilet door behind her there was a moment of relative calm, only spoiled by the sight of the wet seat and the open bucket into which used paper and other horrors were thrown.
As she fought for a washbasin, something snapped inside her; she had taken more than enough for one night. She was damned if she was going to take a taxi home on her own, leaving Ben to his own devices in the bar. Angrily pushing her way out, she found him still sitting engrossed, just as she had left him a few minutes before.
‘Say something then,’ she demanded, refusing to sit down.
‘What’s that?’ he said half ignoring her.
‘Right Ben, you’ve really done it now … we’re going.’
‘Hang on Emm, let’s give it a bit longer. There’s a new load of girls coming on.’
A group of three girls were now dancing directly in front of them. Young and fresh, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and joking with each other. One of them stood out because although she was topless, she was wearing long blue cargo pants. She kept rolling down the waistband of her trousers to show her bikini bottoms, the suggestion
far more erotic for Ben than the full nudity of the others.
Emma was by now becoming more and more enraged.
‘I told you Ben, we’re going … right now. Look, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care what you do, but first you take me back to our flea-pit,’ she shouted, giving his arm an angry pull. Slowly he got up and followed her to the door, conspicuously glancing backwards at the stage.
In the heat of the night, they ran the gauntlet of the touts outside the bars as they left Nana Plaza. Neither of them spoke, Emma seething silently. Back in the street, they walked in the direction of Sukhumvit Road looking for a taxi.
‘That was exactly what you wanted to see, wasn’t it,’ she challenged him.
‘We had to give it a go, Emm … we are in Bangkok!’
‘Well, I didn’t have to see it.’
‘Then next time you’d better stay home. Swindon’s safer,’ said Ben sharply. Emma gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the provocation.
‘So tell me Ben, did you like it?’ she retaliated.
‘It was okay,’ he said flatly.
‘Okay was it? So what was it you liked? Tell me that.’
‘Oh sod off Emm … get off my back. It’s only dancing girls.’
‘Only dancing girls!’ she shouted. ‘But these girls are for sale, for pity’s sake.’
‘No, they’re not,’ said Ben, looking apprehensive.
‘They damn well are. The men pay the bar to take them out, then screw’em for sixpence.’
‘Maybe some of them do it for the dosh … but you can’t blame them, Emm.’
‘I’m not blaming the girls, idiot, I’m blaming the men! Like the bar owner and the tossers in there ogling their tits, just like you were, Ben,’ she fumed.
‘Yes, but you’re a loser if you pay for sex. I’d never pay for it.’
‘Because it offends your male ego I suppose … not because you’re abusing the girl! Anyway Ben, you never pay because you fuck me for free … but not tonight you won’t!’ She looked daggers as he anxiously watched out for a taxi.
‘Thought you’d like to see Nana Plaza, Emm,’ he said, trying to sound conciliatory.
‘You had it all planned, bringing me here, didn’t you. Bet you wish I wasn’t around … I’m really cramping your style!’ Her fury came to a climax. ‘And how dare you tell me I’m fat!’
Ben was beginning to realise that Emma was more angry than he had ever seen her.
‘Easy Emm, cool it. What’ve I done to make you so mad?’ He gave her a look of offended innocence.
‘That’s the point … you just don’t get it, do you,’ she snapped.
‘Yes okay, so I liked the girlies … what normal bloke wouldn’t.’
‘All men are blokes and aren’t answerable, is that it?’ said Emma frostily.
‘Well, some of ‘em were drop-dead gorgeous … but Emm, you can’t be jealous about bar girls.’
She kept her cool but was raging inside.
‘So you tell me this then,’ she said. ‘Which girl did you like the best?’
‘Tricky one,’ he laughed. ‘Spoiled for choice!’
‘Maybe … but tell me which one you’d choose for yourself.’
Standing on the kerbside late at night looking for a taxi, the traffic pounding past, Ben then made his big mistake. He answered her question.
‘I’ll go for the one in long pants with the pert little tits. She’s really something, Emm … you don’t have to be a man to see that.’
‘And you don’t have to be a man to hit someone!’
The sound of the slap and his cry of surprise and pain made the Thais in the street briefly turn their heads, though they had become indifferent to the uncouth foreigners in their scruffy clothes.
After a silent taxi ride back to the guesthouse on Khao San Road, Emma found herself suffocating in their tiny room. She was repelled by the smelly grey bed sheet and the towelling bedspread which she guessed had covered a multitude of bodies since last being laundered. The stagnant air was hot and humid and showering in the washroom down the corridor did not clean the stickiness from her skin. Lying on the bed with Ben at arms length beside her in the semi-darkness, she could contain her feelings no longer.
‘It was you pushed me into coming to Thailand, Ben,’ she said. ‘And now you do this to me!’
‘Do what to you?’ he said, sitting up in surprise.
‘Walking all over me … treating me like shit.’
‘That’s rubbish, Emm!’
‘No Ben, I still can’t believe you slobbering over those girls right in front of me.’
‘Look, we’ve been through this already … and I’m sorry,’ he said in a low voice.
‘It’s no use saying sorry. You can’t undo it now, you know.’
‘Can’t undo what?’
‘I mean the next time we’re together, I’ll know you’re fucking the Thai girl with the pert little tits … and not making love to me. If there is a next time that is!’ She turned away from him and rolled herself into a ball, holding her knees tightly to her chest.
3
The morning after the late night out, Emma was awake far too early. She lay looking at the ceiling, Ben in his boxer shorts sprawled on his front next to her, still dead to the world. Mulling over their months apart since graduating, her mind awash with the strife in the girlie bar, she very much feared travelling with him could go terribly wrong. Hardly able to sleep under the wheezing fan and detesting the heat of the city, she longed to get out of Bangkok; the Thailand she had dreamed of must surely be elsewhere.
Ben woke up that morning determined to enjoy the day, having apparently forgotten the furious argument of the previous night. He was in buoyant but provocative mood as they got ready to visit their first Thai temple.
‘Come on Emm, let’s get going.’
‘Just wait can’t you.’
‘While you get dolled up! Emm, you don’t need lipstick.’
‘Shut up, Ben,’ she said pursing her crimson lips in the mirror.
‘You’re reinventing yourself again. Like those highlights … hardly recognised you at Heathrow,’ he said mercilessly.
‘Bet you wish I hadn’t come, now you don’t fancy me anymore.’
‘You used to have a great body, Emm, and you kept your hair natural.’
‘Mousey hair, you called it,’ she said resentfully.
‘And do you really need that long skirt? You’re trying too hard again.’
‘You complain when I don’t,’ she said, almost inaudibly.
‘Well, at least the skirt hides your bum!’ Ben fingered the door handle impatiently.
‘Piss off, Ben. You’re just horrible!’
‘But Emm, you used to love being teased,’ he said more gently.
‘No, I didn’t! I always hated it,’ she whispered, sitting down suddenly on the edge of the bed. ‘The long skirt’s for the temple … but I’ll wear what the hell I like anyway.’
Ben had decided that their first trip out should be to the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaeo, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. From Khao San Road to the temple, they had their first tuk tuk ride. The tuk tuk, a tiny three-wheeled taxi, was waiting by the side of the road, the driver looking for business.
‘How much to the Grand Palace?’ demanded Ben.
‘Gran’ Palace, fifty baht.’
‘Not fifty baht! Twenty baht,’ said Ben.
The driver furiously revved the engine, covering them in exhaust smoke and glanced over his shoulder for a gap in the traffic.
‘Forty baht last price.’
‘Okay, forty baht.’
Honour satisfied and an apparent discount won, Ben climbed in, followed by Emma. The tuk tuk had a bench seat behind the driver and was clearly not for those of a sensitive disposition. They were not strapped in and were open to the elements, except for a low plastic hood. The engine had a prodigious output of noise and fumes and propelled the little cyclops-eyed projectile at suicidal speeds through
the heavy traffic. As they passed along the side of Sanam Luang, the dusty open space once used for executions and Royal cremations, they clung on for grim death, scared but exhilarated. Ben felt cheated of his forty baht when all too soon they screeched to a halt by a gateway through the palace walls.
The Grand Palace satisfied even Emma’s lust for the exotic. This was the ultimate oriental fantasy, a maze of buildings in classical Thai style, of soaring roofs, spires and pinnacles in white, gold and many rich hues. Packed with visitors, they all had to take off their shoes at the door of the temple itself, Thai shoes going in one set of racks and foreign shoes in another, though the smell of feet was the same.
Inside the temple the wardens beckoned Emma and Ben to sit down like the Thais, the feet carefully pointed away from the Buddha image. High up on its tiny gilded throne, the Emerald Buddha presided over a scene of reverence and awe. It was clear to Emma that for the Thais, visiting the temple was of deep spiritual significance and that they were strongly imbued with the ritual of Buddhism. She watched as a group of elderly ladies made offerings of lotus flowers, candles and joss sticks at the altar. Thailand at last she thought.
The Grand Palace was unbearably hot and humid and even the locals were glowing and mopping their brows. Emma sat and wilted, but Ben was determined to go on to Wat Po, another temple nearby, to see the famous reclining Buddha. Back in the street he approached a young tuk tuk driver with a low opening bid.
‘Twenty baht to Wat Po, okay?’
‘Okay, okay, twenty baht.’
Ben was disappointed to be denied a haggle but as they shot away into the traffic, the driver turned and spoke to him over his shoulder.
‘Wat Po closed already. Big soldier die, have cremation. Later go.’
‘But you said you’d take us,’ shouted Ben, not sure he’d taken it all in. Why accept the fare to Wat Po and then cry off?
The driver shouted back, swerving recklessly through the heavy traffic.
‘Sorry, no probrem. I take you better temple, go shopping, then come back Wat Po two o’crock.’