The Dark Side Tour, Part II

Oat wakes up early because of his job as a high stakes sports better—I always associated sports betting with night time, but when you bet on basketball in Asia it’s actually an early morning job. Consequently, we always woke up early when we were staying with Oat to cheer on whichever basketball team he had money on. He had a lot of money riding on the Clippers-Mavericks game and didn't want to leave his apartment so we ordered McDonald's delivery (I’m still not sure how it works, but virtually anywhere in developed Thailand you can dial 1711 and have McDonald's at your door in less than 30 minutes). While eating our Big Macs and drinking our Coca Colas, Pap and Oat both won 10 thousand dollars, thanks to Chauncey Billups taking an unnecessary last minute 3-pointer to meet the spread.

With victory in our clutches, we hopped in Oat’s car to head to Pattaya, the capital of the dark side of Thailand. Phil, an American we met at the hostel came along; it was his birthday, which was the perfect excuse to kill a liter of bourbon before visiting Walking Street, the sex capital of the sex capital—but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Pap contemplating go karts

When first arriving to Pattaya, we did what any 5 guys would do: go karts! We opted for the karts that maxed out at 45 or so, which was still pretty fast. Among the many ‘Masters of Southeast Asia’ (see above post) getting their race on, two stood out. Both of these two old, creepy guys had mullets and wore full racing body suits, Formula 1 style. Their 80 pound dark skinned Thai lovers looked on as they shaved seconds off their go kart laps.

Oat told me his dad was a doctor and that he owned a clinic, and we would stay at this ‘clinic.’ I had images in my head of poor sick people lined up out the door for treatment of herpes, TB, and gunshot wounds (you know, a clinic); I was a little worried, I didn't want to catch anything. Come to find out, a ‘clinic’ in Tinglish is a place for cosmetic surgeries, such as nipple augmentations, face lifts, and sex changes; it was actually a really nice, well lit, and clean place (think a nice dentist’s office with breast posters on the walls instead of teeth). Our accommodations were a former massage parlor on the 3^rd floor of the building. Instead of having five four-foot wide beds, we just had one 20-foot wide bed, with curtains in between.

Our not-so-humble abode for the evening

Making illicit whiskey drinks

We went for seafood on the beach and drank a liter of Jim Beam that I had brought for a special occasion (it was our friend’s birthday and we were in the sex capital of perhaps the world—what the hey). Our waiter was a cold hearted ladyboy who knew we were drinking outside alcohol but couldn’t catch us in the act. We would make ‘ladyboy alerts’ if (s)he was heading our way and someone was pouring. By the end of dinner, we were loud, rowdy, and ready for Walking Street.
DISCLAIMER: I will spare some (read many) of the details of the ensuing events out of good taste (but if you want to know more, contact me, I am more than happy to fill in all the gaps).

First things first: The Ping Pong Show.
Let’s just say these girls have special talents that they have developed through the strengthening and toning the muscles of their reproductive organs, allowing them to propel things with only the ‘breath control’ of their loins (that is about as appropriately as I can describe it). We wanted a solid performance so we asked around about the quality of the entertainers, duration of the entertainment, and show(wo)manship.

Phil (center) taken aback by the splendor of Walking Street

We settled on a 2 hour variety show with a cover charge of about 6 dollars, which included a drink. I want to make it clear and say this show is not very sexy, it’s more like a celebration of an impressive achievement (the said ‘breath control); it was more like going to a boxing match than a strip show. Being that we were sitting front row, we got to take part in the show—I got to light a cigarette for a girl, and hold a balloon which was popped by a blowgun dart; I have faith that my readership can understand what I mean.

The menu at the variety show... email me if you want the legible version

After 2 hours of beer drinking and enjoying some intensely impressive feats of adult entertainment, we moved on to a very classy stage show. The lights were impressive, the sound system was great, the entertainers were lovely, and the choreography was top notch. There were themed dances such as two nurses reviving a third girl, leather and whips, and vampires. These non-explicitly sexual sex shows were actually much preferred by my Thai friends, and based on their generalizations, preferred by most Thai guys. This was where I had my first encounter with a mamasan—a former prostitute turned head madame. Mamasans are notoriously cutthroat; they have seen and done it all, and they don’t put up with shit from anybody. This mamasan mistook my drunkenness for dullness and tried to charge me for 4 drinks when I bought one, and then made me feel bad for bringing it up—she had solid skills of instilling guilt for money.

After that we moved down the strip to a club with a live hip-hop band. They did sweet live covers of Jay-Z, TI, and Solja Boy Tell Em’, as well as Bob Marley songs. Literally for every one local/tourist club goer on this strip, there was a scantily clad Thai girl between 18 and 27. At one club, Pap introduced us to some girls from his hometown (small world!). At 5 or 6 am, after banging out dance remixes to every American pop song imaginable, the clubs all started to close. We decided an after-party was in order (the logical next step from a party, just ask R. Kelly). 

Can't stop, won't stop

We got back to the room and there we were, drunk and joking around. Then the truth came out: they were not friends of Pap; they were prostitutes that happened to be from his hometown (this explained why they were instantly so cool with us I suppose), and they wanted money. We deliberated and let them know that we didn't have interest in playing such a hands on role in the sex trade. They tried to bargain with us for a bit, and after more calculated responses on our parts, they finally left, seemingly not offended. By this time the sun was rising and we were still quite intoxicated; we all slept like one big happy family on our one big happy massage bed.

When we woke up the next afternoon, we were a little more hardened and a little more battle ready; we were men with a little more experience and a little less soul. I can only speak for myself when I say that Pattaya definitely took something out of me, but at least it wasn't money—this entire evening of drinking and world-class entertainment ending up costing about 25 bucks, god bless the power of the dollar.