Bangkok is a city under construction.
Everywhere you turn lady construction worked covered from head to toe in calico burqa uniforms sweat under the south Asian sun clearly spending tax payer money, or maybe just the King's to make Bangkok look like every other commercial center on the planet, with big benign shapeless buildings, paved sidewalks and plenty of 7/11s in order to make sure the aesthetic of the people will soon match that of the ever increasing American landscape.
With globalization in mind, after making a few early morning Skype calls home Sharlene requested that on her last day we visit none other than - the mall.
Travelers and locals alike speak with great affection for the 8-story mammoth known as MBK and featuring 2 movie theatres, a floor of food courts and kiosk upon kiosk where you can haggle over a knock off Louis Vuitton till your heart's content. Not my ideal destination, but an experience nonetheless and something Sharlene seemed interested in.
After an hour or so of perusing she left with a handful of silver bracelets for her girls back home and I had a small blue bag containing two bras that I had yet to sweat stain into oblivion giving both me and my coconuts a new lease on life - or at least a less fragrant one.
Having taken a free government bus, but 15 to e exact to the mall we adeptly caught the 47 over to the Grand Palace however, despite the look and feel of this bus being identical to the last, this one required a fair.
At first I thought it was just another case of white people discrimination but when elderly Asian people boarded and were required to do the same I chalked it up to simply not understanding the system.
Once we arrived at the Grand Palace we were immediately surrounded by a swarm of tourists shifting from one direction to the other in large colorful groups like schools of fish searching for chum.
First thing is first, and food needed to be ingested at the earliest possible moment, so we located a little restaurant amongst the shops on the water that offered mediocre fair and an adorable 2-year old running around barefoot for entertainment.
Feeling sufficiently filled with brown, fried food we made our way to the impressive entrance only to be met with dirty looks and aggressive yelling via bullhorn from a guard insinuating in no uncertain terms that my skirt and tank top made me come across as an Amish street walker and that I would not be allowed entrance in such garish attire. With Sharlene feeling ambivalent about witnessing another dozen temples and me having more time to do as I please we opted to bounce and after some serious haggling with a cab driver who clearly thought I was an idiot - or just a Westerner - we took a 40 baht ride back to Pen Park Place.
After more and more fruitless online searching for nearby yoga studios I succumb to the front desk's recommendation for classes taught above a local cafe and Sharlene and I changed and headed over to inquire. They said class would begin in a few hours and with time to kill we went to get an authentic Thai massage just across Sam Sen Soi.
200 Baht (about 6 American dollars) for an hour foot, neck and shoulder massage seemed reasonable and we quickly changed into patterned hammer pants provided by the parlor and reclined in pleather seats, each with a tiny Asian woman at our feet. Not being terribly familiar with massage, as I have only had 1 in my life, I didn't know what to expect and didn't know how much I could actually allow myself to enjoy it.
So far so good, my feet were cleaned and I was trying to find a zen place. Rubbing my feet was nice and I could almost handle the reflexology pain of sticking a blunt object into various parts of my foot for no foreseeable reason but once my lubbed up toes began to be toe fucked with some long, phallic stick I began to question this age old practice.
Moving up the calves was a nice change of pace but when the woman assigned to me had to use the loo the boss bitch came over and somehow courteously pointed out just how much in need of a shave I was. I know Asian women don't tend to be hairy like the Irish-Italian stallion breed from which I come, but pointing it out seems a bit superfluous. The ladies gathered round to witness my 8 0'clock shadow before interest waned and it was back to pushing, pulling and rubbing my lower extremities.
All seemed fine and dandy once again until some sort of hip reflexor move was made and the tiny doll hands made of soft leather that had been rubbing me for over 30 minutes were dangerously close to my lady regions. It was the gentle grazing of fingers over this most private of areas that made me realize just how long ago they had been grazed as well, adding sadness to my already confusing mix of emotion and discomfort.
Needless to say, when it was all over, she had given it to me rough - and I had liked it.
With yoga still an hour or so off we decided to stroll and I decided to test my navigation skills, aimlessly wandering the streets in a direction that more or less felt like a circle. Sharlene was able to get herself a beautiful pair of silver and turquoise earrings and I was able to stroke my already healthy travel ego with a safe and relatively succinct return to our intended destination.
So - turns out yoga was a bust. Despite the fact that we had confirmed with a Thai woman possessing a very suspect accent earlier the instructor seemed to have left town and now my yoga pants were only functioning as a beautiful, shiny display case for my booty and not for their intended use. The Thai gods do not seem to want to get me in downward dog - and I am a little offended.
With the Pat Pong market opening after dark, and being on Shar's Bangkok Bucket List I got in some much needed WiFi time at the hostel and we decided to fore go showering or changing, having given up on not being sweaty, shiny and frizzy at all possible moments.
A cab driver with 9 fingers and a joke we wouldn't get understand brought us during rush hour to Pat Pong market, located not far from MBK.
We entered the frenetic market and immediately were met with sensory overload. Bootleg Beats by Dre to the left, open air strip joints with lady boys languidly lounging in the foyer to the right. Flashing lights, club music, the smells of grilling meat and rotting fish filling my nostrils yet not deterring my appetite - this is, more or less, what I expected Bangkok to be. Sex tourism at it's best.
Or worst.
It was once we were presented with a half dozen fliers to witness the pussy ping pong show that we began to realize why our driver had been laughing hysterically by taking us to Pat Pong, ping pong. It was all becoming clear.
Never before have I wandered down a side street and seen a half dozen beautiful young men laid out, displaying themselves on the porch of the massage parlor like a Calvin Klein ad, only a pair of blue jeans were most certainly not what was available for purchase behind those shuttered doors.
I love this shit. I live for this shit - seeing a part of life or a subculture that I am not a part of and not particularly educated in. Every white man who passed me was now, in my opinion, a sexual deviant and any woman with a bit too much rouge had to have been packing heat. Mix with with drugs, alcohol and late night hours and I can only imagine what takes place on these slick city streets.
Oasis would provide us our last meal and a lady boy and a boy lady would take our drink and food orders respectively, though my attention was on the balding British man at the bar who had on powder foundation and a hard on for the dude dressed like splinter from the ninja turtles next to him. In my mind he was married to a nice portly woman back in the UK with blue eyes and silver hair. They had 2 children, a boy and a girl who maybe knew Dad was a bit soft, but would never suspect that his 'business trips' landed him here. Yes, this is what I do when I am out to dinner.
Stomach full and appetite for all things unsavory satiated and it was time to procure yet another tuk tuk and take our last ride back to the hostel before Sharlene's 3am departure the following morning.
This particular driver, who happened to resemble all 3 of my uncles at once, drove a hard bargain and I could see by the glint in his eye he respected my hustle as much as I did his so, once we agreed upon a price it was quickly through the breezy darkened streets of Bangkok, back to our beds and when I awake tomorrow - I am, once again, all alone.
Thanks for sharing this experience and popping my tuk tuk cherry, Shar.
