The Golden Rule of Zoos

My-travel-partner-who-musn't-be-named-unless-someone-is-going-to-pay-me had two days left in Thailand; we had to make it count. We had to top go-karts, eating some of the greatest food that’s ever been processed by taste buds, varying levels of interaction with prostitutes, ping pong shows, lady boy bars, long distance motor biking, near incarceration, and epic beach trips. There was only one possible grand finale for this manly adventure through Thailand: a drive-through zoo.

We stayed at Oat’s sweet high rise apartment once again, and woke up at 8 to cheer him on in his ‘sports arbitrage’ (read ‘betting on basketball spreads’) and to have some McDonald’s delivery, as per usual. Seemingly out of the blue, Oat and Pap announced that we would be going to a zoo—a drive-through zoo at that. Having never steered us wrong up to this point, we immediately and emphatically agreed.

We hopped in Oat’s immaculate (and now totaled, I just recently found out) car to take on Bangkok traffic once again. At this point we were seasoned traffic veterans, ready for the miles of slower-than-walking driving; we packed ample snacks, water, and highly caffeinated syrups—Redbull© was actually originally Thai, and still comes in the original form in Thailand: a small medicine bottle of a thick, non-carbonated sweet syrup that has, like, 5 cups of coffee’s worth of caffeine. For me, Thai Redbull was soooo 2008, so I had branched out to some of the other, even more powerful and vitamin supplemented, syrupy, liquid, amphetaminal beverages (they cost around 30 cents, why not!?).

As we approached the heart of Bangkok, Oat told us we were to pick up food for the animals; I was flabbergasted—I was sure that not even a place as 'laid-back on regulations' as Thailand would allow you to feed large and dangerous, albeit likely sedated, animals. Oat assured us that this was perfectly fine and we went into the market and went on a shopping spree: fish (for the large birds), bananas (for the primates and oddly enough rhinos), and lots of greens (for the antelopes and deer and what have you). After deliberation, we decided it would be best to also get some chicken… for the lions, tigers, and bears (not a joke nor an intentional Wizard of Oz reference).

We arrived, and, in order not to miss the shows, went to the amusement park portion of this giant tourist site before the drive-through zoo. Inside there were numerous animals that I had never seen in person, and some I hadn’t seen even on TV. While American zoos like to keep a distance between the zoo-goers and the animals (presumably for both parties’ health and safety), in Thailand that seems to not be so much of a priority; most animals could be petted by an intrepid tourist because of the considerable distance between bars and the less-than-considerable distance between clothed and non-clothed animals. The tiger cage had a small tunnel under it that would allow you to come up into the middle of the tiger family’s lair; on the way down the stairs, people of my height could actually put their face about 3 inches away from a really pissed off tiger’s face—their teeth are mad big and mad sharp, yo.

We saw a dolphin show and a spy adventure show, the former was a pretty standard Seaworld© type show. The latter on the other hand, was a wild, no holds barred series of explosions, hypersexualized encounters, water splashes, and bouts of bad acting loosely centered around a plot of an Asian James Bond saving the world from an evil former military general who nearly gains control of all the nuclear weapons in the world-- I get the feeling it was unlicensed and violated at least a few of Ian Flemming's right's ownerships.

Then came the time, the finale, the drive-through feeding zoo. My travelling-partner-not-to-be-named-unless-I-get-a-book-deal and I, in the backseat, readied the foodstuffs. As we drove on the gravel road cut out of tropical, jungly, flora, we started realizing that this zoo also followed the golden rule of zoos: DON’T FEED THE FUCKING ANIMALS was presented in slightly less words over and over and in every language and script imaginable. We de-readied the foodstuffs by shoving them through the middle seat trunk access point and hiding what we could under the front seats; the security checkpoint was arriving. Luckily for the golden rule breakers, smugglers, and terrorists of the world, the security was utterly equatorial; a slight glance and as little body movement as possible to wave us through was employed (can you blame them… it’s hot, and they have on full uniforms, and they probably make like 8 dollars a month).

Our food worked perfectly, we lured exotic animals of all sorts within arm’s reach. The banana-eating rhinos (!)(?) were larger than Oat’s Toyota, the fuzzy bear who was either sipping codeine syrup or being injected with daily sedatives hoisted himself up on his hindlegs and rested on the car, the herds of herbivorous quadrapedals (antelopes and shit) stuck their heads into all the windows, lured in by leafy Asian vegetables. The lions and tigers were—likely for the best—heavily sedated, and lax security was watching from a distance. We gave the chicken breasts to the security guards as we left—security guards were often the recipients of our leftovers; they seemed to appreciate them.

Some things are universal in the human condition; the philosophers that tell you ‘truth’ doesn’t exist are a bunch of godforsaken liars—and probably homosexuals, too. Cultural and moral relativism are bullshit—as proven by every zoo in the world instating, and every mischievous young person in the world breaking, a truthful, universal rule of animal-viewing establishments, THE golden rule:

Don’t Feed The Animals.

The Dark Side Tour, Part I

Bryan and I were having a long overdue bro-reunion, and we were curious about the seedier side of Thailand; we have both visited Thailand but never seen the side that unfortunately dominates many people’s perception of the country (there’s a lifetime of things to see and do here that don’t involve sex, and the culture is quite agreeable, as long as you’re not a dick).

We, however, put red-lighting on the back burner to meet up with some contacts we had in Bangkok. We spent our first night with Joe. We had a big Thai dinner and toast for dessert—this isn’t any old toast though, it’s 3-inch thick, buttery white bread that you can dip or cover with pretty much anything you want, and it is as decadent and sinful as any dessert I’ve had. Joe was tired from being overworked and when we asked him about the red light district he quickly passed. Eventually we parted ways to go get some sleep.

The next day we were to meet up with Pap, and we assumed it would be a similar scenario to the night before; but God, were we wrong. Oat and Pap are a classic duo—Pap is tall, charismatic, and very unrestrained by Thai standards; Oat is shorter and has distinctly Chinese features, and is much more calculated and mild mannered on first impression. Bryan and I rode in the back of Pap's pick-up, slowly crawling through the never-ending Bangkok traffic

After lunch they told us the truck had no plates and was in dire need of maintenance, so we needed to drop it off before the Police pulled us over. We went to Oat’s house, which was under reconstruction from the floods that hit Thailand recently; the walls that weren’t repaired showed water damage over 3 feet high. We met Oat’s grandma, a first generation Chinese-Thai immigrant, who Bryan and I got to speak some Chinese with.

Bryan rode in the pick-up and I rode with Oat in his immaculate 2007 Mazda, one of the cleaner cars on the road and tastefully modded with a sports package. About 25 minutes later, we were maybe a mile closer to our destination (Bangkok’s traffic is a nightmare, people will always tell you it’s rush hour, even at 3 in the morning; sitting in a nearly-parked car is an ongoing theme in this town). Oat was in the middle of telling me he works as a day-trader and high stakes sports gambler when his phone rang. He said hello, listened 3 seconds, laughed maniacally, and hung up. Then he told me that he and Pap were going to take us on a tour of the dark side of Thailand, he said it would be a multiple day affair and that we needed to go check out of our hostel. We did as we were told. (A note to prospective Thailand travelers: ditch the travel book ASAP and make friends with some Thai folks at a college bar and let them show you around, they pretty much all speak enough English and Lonely Planet writers know nothing compared to the locals.)

After what seemed like hours of crawling traffic we had dropped off Pap’s truck and were at Oat’s high rise apartment. His floor was equipped with a pool on a terrace, a full gym, and other amenities one would expect at a top notch condo, all paid for by calculated sports betting. We dropped our stuff off and hopped back into the car to face more traffic, and ‘The Dark Side Tour’ commenced.

Pap gave us a briefing on the itinerary, he was going to show us all the sex Bangkok had to offer (that was for sale at least), starting with the cheapest at a few hundred baht (3 to 9 bucks), to the classy stuff at 5000+ baht (170 dollars or more). The first stop was a seedy underpass near a railroad; the streets are lined with aggressive ladies of the night that only get a second before the customer’s drive onto the next prospect, so they really display their wit and charm as best as possible. Old train cars with beds serve as their offices, so to speak. Next stop was the ‘massage parlors’ which were big, casino-esque structures with neon signs spelled out in Thai, English, and Chinese—the difference between these and real massage parlors are the neon lights and the staff, Pap pointed out (‘If the girls are beautiful, they are prostitute. If they are old, it is a real massage spa’). We went to a local favorite, Nataree, which may have been intended to be called ‘Natalie’ but due to the lack of an ‘r’ and ‘l’ distinction in Thai someone opted to go with the ‘r’ accidently.

Inside there was a window booth displaying the veterans, a table with the older ladies to the left, and a bench with the younger ones to the right. The younger ones were mostly dainty, light skinned, and inexperienced looking; most were thumbing through their smart phones with an air of indifference, all of which are apparently wildly hot characteristics to a Thai guy. Conversely, the older ladies hunted for eye contact and smiles with potential clients. We saw many different types of clients, one duo were two Thai kids who couldn’t have been more than 20, and they purchased a ladies’ company to share between them (balling on a budget, or bonding?).

While leaving Nataree, we were pulled over for a broken headlight, and after extensive bargaining Pap and Oat were to pay a 200 baht toll (whether it was a fine or bribe, the world may never know). The caveat was they had to go pay it to a higher ranking official at the station, so they left us with the cops next to the parked car, which was in a u-turn zone. Not 2 minutes after they had left did a giant tour bus full of Koreans pull up and they needed to make this said u-turn. The bus driver did a 56-point turn to try and get around our car that was blocking half the zone, to no avail. All the while, traffic was backing up more and more down the busy street of Bangkok because the bus was blocking 2 and a half of the 3 lanes of traffic. The police started shouting at us in Thai (presumably to move the car), once again to no avail.

Once things were straightened out we headed to the high class brothel, which looked like the white house tucked in between two skyscrapers. Unfortunately, they were hosting a private party and we couldn’t get in. Pap and Oat then told us they would take us to Pattaya the next day, which is the capital of darkness in Thailand, and that we needed to rest up. Once again we did as we were told, totally unaware of just how crazy the next day would be…