Chinese Tequila

Thailand is my favorite place in the world (other than New York, of course) for three reasons: the food, the women, and the Buddhism; all three are done there better than anywhere else I am aware of (if you do know where these three things are done better, please fill me in; thanks). Of all the things I love about Thailand—from the oddness to the strange dichotomies and juxtapositions to the weather to the feeling of spontaneity that is omni-present—tequila is not one those things; it’s not even in the top 1000.

Normally in Thailand, I stick to Singha beer, a lager much in the vein of Heineken or Stella. Sometimes I opt for Sangsum—a ‘Thai whiskey’ that is actually a rum, that may or may not have some kind of serious and intense hard drug in it; if you drink too much of this ‘whiskey,’ you’re liable to have some kind of moment of clarity. I was once found speaking in tongues in a meditative sitting position on the floor of the apartment I was staying at, post-speaking with street dogs in the neighborhood, all after imbibing a pint of this devilish drink. #realtalk

But when the moment is right, tequila is the only option, regardless of your surroundings… but now I have gotten ahead of myself, allow me to explain how this moment came about....

After a lovely Chinese New Year in a Chinese-style river town (see previous entry Chinese New Year, Thai style) my travel partner and I set out further South to Phuket where we had a friend teaching at a university to crash with. As we entered Phuket, I couldn’t help but feel like a marine on R&R; the wild and untamed power-lines were tangled to levels that only decade’s worth of haphazard and non-cooperative infrastructure development could create; the architecture was low-effort Portuguese style; the skies were super clear and the air was super humid; and there were bars on the main drag and in downtown that aimed to entice men hungry for the visceral pleasures of life. All in all, these characteristics compounded to formulate a feeling that I was in Full Metal Jacket 2.

Over the hill and through the jungle from Phuket, the dingy but lovely beach paradise on a peninsula, was Patong—the 2^nd or 3^rd ‘sexiest’ place in Thailand (and of course, by ‘sexy’ I mean wrought with prostitution and steroided up dudes looking to mount anything they can). In addition to these two demographics, there were lots of Chinese families on vacation for the New Year.

Whenever I am surrounded by neon silhouettes of women and people pushing sex shows on the street, I wonder what decision process leads Chinese families to come to places such as Pataya and Patong, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there.

My travel partner and I had prepped for the night with some Northern Thai food, beers, Sangsum (it was one of those nights), Redbull©, and lighthearted existential joking about how we wound up in the places we had wound up in (see previous Thailand posts).

We strolled up and down the main drag of Patong, perusing the schedules for various sex shows and other adult entertainment (Man and Woman, Flower Shows, Ping Pong Shows… mostly standard stuff). We considered getting suits tailored for 80 bucks then decided against it. We stopped into a 7-11 and had another Redbull© and beer.

After stepping out of the 7-11, we were approached by 4 young Chinese women. They asked us to take a picture of them; it was relieving to be approached by non-salespeople. Being that both me and my travel partner speak pretty darn good Chinese, we wowed them and our crew and their crew became a singular crew.

As we walked down the main drag, women in tow, a tequila bar magically appeared out of nowhere. Normally I know to avoid tequila bars in Asia, but it was one of those nights, and the Chinese women had never had a tequila shot, so we had to school them.

There was a discount if you bought the shots by the 15-platter, so being the frugal folks we were, we took advantage of the discount.

As we explained the salted hand and the lime chaser, the tension was building; I had never realized how odd the process of a tequila shot was—the Chinese lasses’ fear was palpable. The process was explained, everyone had a salted hand, the limes were being gripped, the shot glasses were hoisted up… we then held them down (Chinese style cheersing) and called out ‘gan-bei, xin nian kuai le!’ (cheers! Happy New Year!)… the alcohol entered our systems… annnnndddddd…..

Turns out it wasn’t tequila; it was more like something between vodka and rubbing alcohol. Shit. There were no immediate adverse reactions so I remained calm; my travel partner, who had been living in rough and rugged Beijing for a few years at that point, was not standing for the counterfeiting we had become victims to. In a fit of rage he demanded to speak to a bar tender or a manager or someone that he could heir his grievances to. In a commanding Chinese style, he told them that their product was counterfeit and he wanted a refund. They said no. He demanded it once again. They said no. They offered more shots for free. We took it. Haggling 101, yo.

We left after 2 trays of shots to take on Patong once again, which had seemed to become smaller and more beautiful while we were in the tequila bar. We went with the only logical next step at this point: a ladyboy bar. We entered and ordered another bulk discount shot tray—this time it was Sambuca (real Sambuca! Yay!).

After a few songs and taking in the whole scene, I looked into the eyes of one of the Chinese women; it struck me like a ton of comedic bricks: they didn’t know they were in a ladyboy bar. I asked her which woman was prettiest, she responded with a finger and a ‘that one.’ I then asked her: ‘you do know that these women are all actually men, right?’ She denied it, I told her to look at the legs of the dancer in front of us, the rippling calves, the defined hamstrings. Her jaw dropped, her eyes scanned the room, a new sense of her surroundings was taking hold. 

After some chit-chatting with the Chinese ladies about their views on transgenderedness (it’s just a phase! They are confused!) and some informal interviews with some of the ladyboys to learn about the life of a transgendered sex professional, we set out for the beach.

The beach was pretty empty at this point in the late night. We enjoyed some more 7-11-bought beers and jokes with the Chinese women. Somehow, this turned into an unrequited match of truth or dare which ended with myself and my travel partner naked, with this group of fully-clothed women cheering us on and yelling out objectifying slurs. Luckily, as an experienced Boy Toy, I am not a masculinist and I don’t mind being on the receiving end of a bit of objectification from time to time.

After an awkward denial of entry from these young ladies’ hotel, my travel partner and I were forced to walk long distances in search of transportation—in soaking wet pants (literally). An early morning walk in a place like Patong is a great illustration of the dichotomy that is omni-present in Thailand and something I truly love: you can see street level prostitutes picking up their last customers or walking home for the night, right next to the monks who do there alms in the early morning, plus drunken foreigners looking silly and out of place in a land equal parts interesting and confusing to them (although we could only see the latter-most when looking at reflections in store front windows).       

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.

Chinese New Year, in Thailand

After some raucous times in Bangkok and Pattaya with our friends both new and old, me and my travel-partner-to-remain-nameless decided that as great as clubbing non-stop with the upper echelons of Thai society was, we were getting only certain aspects of Thai society and culture—aspects such as club design (lots of Chipotle-sensibility such as brushed stainless steel, faux premium woods, and warm lights), traffic patterns in affluent parts of Bangkok (endless seas of sedans with a driver riding solo, stopping and going, but mostly stopping; with cabs filling in the gaps), and off the beaten path restaurants that would specialize in a single dish—so good that they would often cause involuntary, orgasm like experiences full of ‘mmms’ and professions to deities.

We wanted to experience that helpless, uninformed rambling that is backpacking in Southeast Asia. We decided on Phetburi, a coastal, old, Chinese style town that seemed to have a lot of character from the pictures on Google images. Two main factors went into this decision: the cheap hotel with good reviews and the occurrence of Chinese New Year; we figured we should bring in the water-dragon year in style—Chinese style, that is.

We waited for a bus at a terminal in Bangkok; in the stead of tickets, we received tokens that symbolized our bus fare. These tokens were (roughly and irregularly) 1 inch pieces of plastic straws, and (roughly and irregularly) 1 inch squares of corrugated plastic. The bus-passenger-wranglers at the bus station would yell out the color and form of the tokens, not the destinations, to signify the next departure. Thus, we learned to say ‘blue straw’ in Thai (once we thought our bus was announced, but they were actually announcing ‘blue corrugated plastic piece’).

Getting off buses in towns without a map is always a bit frightening. We had acquainted ourselves with the layout of the town before we arrived, and we knew our hotel was on the river that ran through town. After we got our bearings and got a few sets of semi-contradictory directions, we found the aforementioned river and followed that up to the hotel. Phetburi was subtly beautiful; under overgrowth of vines there were bejeweled statues of The Buddha, elephants, and other things held in high esteem by the lovely people of Thailand. Dramatic and ornate Thai-style temples peeked up over the single and two story store fronts with attached housing. The layout, like much of the developing world, seemed a bit freestyled—a public planning jazz of sorts; no streets were really straight, they all bowed and curved with the prior streets and paths.

The hotel we stayed in was an old, stilted, wooden structure right on the river. The owner was an eccentric old Thai chef and the decorations reflected his eccentricities. The bookshelves were lined with mid-20^th century Sci-Fi, as well as the full gamut of English literature classics of the last century or so (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Faulkner etc) plus lots of indiscernible Thai books. The walls were covered in mainstream and semi-obscure rockabilly, big band jazz, old school country, and 50s rock and roll. These were functional decorations until a year prior, when the owner broke down and went digital.

Our room was old and conjured feelings of an AWOL marine holed up and shooting heroin in 1970, only a little dingier; the best adjective to describe it would probably be ‘Apocolypsenowian.’ Luckily we are flexible guys and we had sleeping bag liners, allowing us to never have to make direct contact with the sheets that seemed clean, but could have had any number of unspeakable things done on and with them. 

After ‘settling’ into our hotel, we set out for a stroll. The town was covered in red and gold decorations of all sorts to signify the Chinese New Year. Many of the shops were closed or semi-closed and the store floors had been turned into familial lounging areas where dumplings and other Chinese finger foods were being cooked in massive quantities. Unbeknownst to us, a lot of the older Thai-Chinese people are actually Chinese people living in Thailand. My travel buddy and I flexed our Chinese-speaking tongues and impressed some of the grandmas and grandpas of the area. One family took a particular liking to us and invited us in to sample all the homemade treats they were preparing. The grandma seemed ecstatic to have big tall white guys sampling her foods and complementing them in her mother-tongue, and we were ecstatic to be sampling such lovely, authentic eats. One of the grand-daughters of the family was only about 16, but it was clear that she was to be a striking beauty. Her eyes were a combination of light hazel and blue and she was tall and slender. We discussed after leaving their storefront for the first time what an appropriate amount for a betrothal gift might be for this young lass and settled on ‘unaffordable to us;’ we considered installment payments until she reached 18, as well as a few other payment and exchange plans before having an existential meltdown about how creepy the dialogue was.

The Chinese New Year celebration featured large amounts of fireworks, dragon dances, temporary shrines for extra Buddha Points, smiles, and well wishing. It was interesting hearing the old people’s recollections of life in Taiwan and China and the tales that brought them to Thailand in the first place, and there less-than-subtle introductions of grand-daughters accompanied with those magical flirty looks that old women get when they start recalling their past and hitting on young guys vicariously through their second generation progenies.