Chapter 6 First night out

 Following training on Monday I went to see Mali.   

“How are you?” she said. “I see you training hard last week.”

“Yeah, good, just wondered about hiring a motorbike.”

“Motorbike I have, how long you want?”

“A month.”

“A month can do no problem, pay two thousand five hundred baht, can show you now.”

Leading me to the covered parking area she picked out an old ‘Honda Dream’.  It was the bike I’d seen everywhere in town, whole families riding them together.

“Ever ride motorbike?”

I had two years ago on Kho Samui almost crashing into a petrol station.

“No.”

“Very simple, here turn on, have front brake, back break.  Push here to start then use left side to change gear. I show you first.”

Skipping on behind her, she drove me up and down the lane.  My first attempt not so graceful as I lurched from one gear to the next.

“Go for drive,” she encouraged.

Following the route of one of the runs I left the houses behind, twisting the throttle and surging down the quiet lane.

“Waaaa….” I screamed to no one.

I thought about the opening scene of Lawrence of Arabia, careering along on his Enfield, forcing his face to the wind and then the accident; the gap in the hedge, the bike upside down, wheels spinning in the air.

In my second week I used gaps between training to ride around the city, on Wednesday stopping at a sign which read ‘Eat Me’.  A small white café with spotless interior it was busy with evening diners, six large fridges filled with cakes against the wall. A dozen varieties of chocolate, cheesecakes, mousses, yoghurts, I couldn’t remember being faced with such choice. Picking chocolate mud cake a girl removed it with a pair of tongs and I took my seat ordering coffee.

Savouring a mouthful I thought about how my family never seemed able to picture the places I’d visited. 

“People eat out three times a day,” I’d say, “spend hours chatting in the street, outside earning a living Asian cities are geared to enjoyment. We visit the gym or turn on T.V. at night and they stroll through markets eating freshly prepared foods and drinking in front of live bands.”

“Yeah, those poor people,” They’d say, “what a shame.”

Paying a cool looking guy in designer glasses I asked who made the cakes.

“Me,” he said.

“Where’d you learn?”

“I study in The States, San Diego. Spend one year there and then come back to open my shop.”

For all Asia lacked in order it had a spontaneity which brought it to life. If you wanted to open a business, you rented a shop. There weren’t a million authorities to register with; you just needed your idea. At home so much had become entrenched, huge corporations running from top to bottom, a legal system which fed off the society it was built to preserve. I couldn’t go shopping without meeting a tout asking me whether I’d had an injury. It was what seemed inevitable about becoming developed, it meant having order, but taken to an extreme, order became stifling.   

On Wednesday I’d finished my book about the Chinese poet and made my to Gecko books which was recommended as the number one bookstore in town. Located near Thapae Gate at the entrance to the old city it was a decent sized store open to the road, shelves stacked ten feet high with everything from the classics to self help. I hovered around philosophy section for a while, picking up Jean-Paul Sarte and replacing it on the shelf. I still had a lingering interest, but I was going to postpone it until a time when I might be better equipped to find some answers. 

I’d made that decision in China.  A day when my head had been spinning with ideas and the sunshine outside had looked too good to miss. I’d just read about a philosopher ended life with a huge collection of books and wishing he’d had a grandchild. That was the thing about it, you could spend your life reasoning out what the perfect life should be but at some point you had to start living, accept you’d never know it all. Turning to the popular reads I picked out ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’. I had a rough idea of the story, Japanese women with painted white faces. I paid three hundred baht and returned to camp. 

Monday afternoon I was called to ring for the first time. 

“Hi, what’s your name?” I asked the trainer.

“Den.”

I’d heard about Den, a veteran of over three hundred fights he’d only stopped after fitting in the ring. Holding two block pads he invited me to jab cross, shifting the pads to the side for the round kick. It was awkward at first, hesitating as I worked out what he wanted and mechanically throwing in shots.  

“Songpan,” I heard someone shout, it was the call for the final minute.

“Stonger, harder, faster,” Den ordered.

Rapidly moving the pads from side to side I felt my power draining

“Stronger, harder, faster.”

I could hardly breathe, collapsing at the bell and slowly rising to take water from the corner.

As I set myself at the second round he marched forward sweeping my legs. My back jarring as I hit the canvas I looked up to see him smiling madly as he waved me to my feet. I felt a surge of anger, crashing into the pads, then bang, he jabbed me with the butt of the pad.

“Hands up.”

Furiously beating forward I found myself back on the canvas, returning to my feet and wading forward determined to kick him from the ring. ‘Urgh’, he teeped me in the stomach, holding up my hands I fought for breath.

“Songpan”

 “Leo, leo, leo, Stronger, harder, faster, stronger, harder, faster.”

Furiously kicking from one side to the next I knew the moment I stopped I was heading for the deck. Collapsing at the close I rose to tap him on the shoulder. It had been good, up to that point I’d felt the training had been within me, but now I’d been pushed, taken to a place where I had nothing left give.

My fitness gains exceeding my expectations by the end of the second week I was starting to move up the table in the runs. In my Legion exercises completing fifty successive sit ups, close to forty press ups and seven to eight over armed pull ups depending on how hard I’d worked in my boxing.  Locked in the regime I was happy. Another plan coming to fruition, it was something I’d come to realized in China, a sunny day walking down the street when I’d realized I’d never failed at anything I’d put my mind to. It was just putting my mind to something that I found hard.

Outside the ring I’d enjoyed exploring the city but nights out had been off the menu.  It was the place I’d told myself I never go, but my neighbour was of a different persuasion.  Another farang, I hadn’t met him, but for three consecutive nights I’d listened to screaming girls in his room. Seeing his door ajar as I returned from Friday’s training I knocked and entered. He introduced himself as Zac from Boston, a six footer with average build and the looks of a public school boy, finishing my introductory banter I dropped the question.

“Had any luck with the girls?”

He smiled.

“Different girl every night.”

“Man, that must be costing you a fortune.”

He paused savouring what he was about to say.

“It’s free.”

“Free.”

“Not for everyone, the old guys down there are paying for it, but if you’re young and good looking there’s no charge.”

“So, what do they get out of it?”

“A good time, I know it’s hard to believe but these girls enjoy it. In America I can’t get a girl, O.K., wait, that’s not entirely true, but it’s work. I meet her, we date, maybe after a couple of months I see some action but here it’s just boom. I go to a bar downtown start talking to a girl and then she’ll say something like ‘You wanna go Bubble?’ It’s a club, we go there and they just offer to sleep with you.”

“No fucking way.”

“I’m telling you man, it’s something else.”

I took my thoughts back to my room and considered my position. Perhaps it was what the Buddha had meant by the ‘The Middle Way’, one night out a healthy release after a hard working week. Not having to train on Sunday I settled on the following night as my first night out. Courting the camp for recommendations I heard a group would be meeting at seven. Dressing in front of the mirror that night I was pleased by my changing figure, it wasn’t perfect, but the arms were bulging again, my chest causing a visible crease in my t-shirt.  It was one I always remembered wanting during my teens. 

I rode to the find the meeting point deserted, a group congregated outside Mali’s house as I approached and parked in the gravel. Mali and Mayola sat on plastic chairs, Jay slouched on a wicker hour glass, a guy I hadn’t met standing beer in hand.

“You seen anybody tonight?” I asked.

“They’ve already left,” Jay drawled, “you wanna drink?”

“What’ve you got?”                                                                         

“Whiskey and coke.”

Not a fan of Coke I walked to the Cherry Mart and collected soda.

“Help yourself man, the bottle's inside,” Jay offered as I returned.

Stooping into Mali’s chalet there was a T.V. in the corner and a picture of two Western children on a low table to its side. 

“So, anyone coming out tonight?” I said as I walked back outside.

“Hey man, I’m up for it,” The unnamed stranger replied.

“Hi, we haven’t met yet, ‘Paul’.”

“Freido”

“Where you from?”

“Brazil.”

That figured green and yellow t-shirt, deep brown tan.

“You been out in Chiang Mai yet?”

“No, but lots of people go out tonight.”

“If you want come with me I’m going in an hour or so,” I said.

“Hey man, why don’t you stay and get drunk,” Jay proposed. 

“Sorry bud, I’d love to, but I’ve got some exploring to do.”

It was starting to get dark, the street lights flickering on as a motorbike revved into the parking area. Emerging from the shadows it was another new arrival. Receding blonde hairline, I’d placed him in his late thirties. Quiet and methodical in training he hardly looked like an accomplice for a wild night out, standing for a moment without speaking and raising an eyebrow to each of us in greeting.

“Are you going out tonight?” he asked.

It was a selfish moment when I wanted to say no. 

“Me and Paul go to town in an hour,” Freido blurted.

Introducing himself as Gunner from Norway I resigned myself to the idea he might be a wild card.

“If you’re hungry I found a good place last night,” Gunner offered, “near Thapae Gate. You cook the meat yourself and they have vegetable and fries.” He reached into his pocket retrieving a map and guiding us with his finger, “If you follow me, I can take you.”

Arriving twenty minutes later we were in an open area, the city’s buildings giving way to a series of wooded restaurants. It was more like a scene from the island beaches than the middle of downtown. Following Gunner to a lantern lit restaurant I recognised the faces from the camp.

“Looks good,” I said as I stared at their overflowing plates.

“Damn right it’s good, 100 baht for as much as you can eat,” Karl returned.

“So, what’s the score, do I serve myself?”

He pointed to the barbeque, “Just put your meat on and take a plate.”

I crossed the floor, taking chicken and steak and began filling my plate; salad, seafood dressing, mashed potatoes, croquets, fries.

“Nice place, you been here before?” I enquired on returning.

“Every night, need my protein,” Karl replied.

I set about my potato salad and caught the attention of the inattentive waitress. 

“What you want?” she snapped.

“Do you have whiskey soda?”

“Sangsom Soda?”

I nodded.

“Where you guys headed?” I enquired.

Rye looks shot across the table.

“Don’t look at me, what the fuck you looking at me for?” Karl jested.

“Bubble, the only place to be on a Saturday night,” Michael answered. He was an Indian Dane with a Mohawk, a twenty one year old with a large curry belly which defied physics when he ran.

The younger guys launching into a succession of childish pisstaking I collected my meat and returned to discuss plans with Gunner and Freido.

“So, the guys are talking about Bubble, you up for that?”

Gunner took his time to respond and I waited for him to say no. He just didn’t seem the type, older, reserved, too careful in his speech.

“Bubble, where is this place?” he replied with interest.

“No idea, Karl, how do we get to Bubble?”

“It’s in the basement of The Porn Ping hotel.”

Gunner reached into his pocket and passed the map.

“O.K., we’re here,” Karl pointed, “this is Thaepae Gate, see this street, Loi Khro, that’s the one with the girlie bars.  Head straight down there and straight across at the intersection, you need to end up here.”

Two minutes later the others had finished eating and Michael rose to his feet. 

“O.K., ready to ride this town, who’s my cowboy, come on, who’s my cowboy?  Gotta go, gotta go,” he jested as he slapped a hand against his thigh.

“Hey bitch, who you bitchin at?” came Karl’s reply.

I’d gathered the camps younger crowd weren’t on my wavelength, a few years of experience putting me ahead of their game. I liked to drink and I drank, I liked a good conversation and I talked and I knew how to get girls, my primary rule being to take a partner and never a crowd. You could accommodate three but that was the limit. 

I’d been hopeless when I was younger, my longest relationship before Suzy four weeks with a girl at school. It was after the marriage my confidence had come, being with a girl for four years there wasn’t much I hadn’t worked out by the end. They liked confidence, someone handsome, someone who could dance, someone who wasn’t desperate.  I’d perfected it all, granted the looks were god given but everything else I’d worked on.

I savoured another mouthful of beef and chased it with a couple of fries. 

“You been doing Muay Thai long?” I questioned Freido.

“In Brazil four years, but I also do Brazilian Jiu jitsu, you know this?”

I nodded.

“It’s different yes, but the training is, how do you say? Similar.”

Finishing our meal we paid at the counter and headed towards the bikes and telling the others I’d lead the way I mounted my bike and stalled, restarting and roaring forward to narrowly miss a wall. Waiting for the others to catch up I turned to give a let’s go nod and raced through the city, slowing as I passed the girlie bars. I still couldn’t imagine myself going there, something telling me I wouldn’t enjoy it, the same girls every night, hanging from the gables, calling to the street.  Once inside you’d be obliged to think up small talk “What’s your name? You work here long? You like Chiang Mai? Football?" "Jep, 2 month, yeah, Michael Owen".

Speeding to the night market I turned left for the Porn Ping hotel and caught sight of girls sat on high stools outside a classier looking bar.

“Hey Paul, you missed it,” Gunner called as he drew alongside me.  Circling the block we made it in on our second attempt, an impressive thirty storey building with expensive cars dropping guests at the door. Parking at the rear we followed Gunner and climbed a set of steps, flashing strobe lights visible through tinted glass. It wasn’t what I’d expected, a large room filled with tables, a live act on stage.

“I thought this was a club,” I said

We ventured back outside and spotted a cave like entrance with ‘Bubble’ highlighted in purple neon above the door. 

Walking to the desk the girl looked up, “100 baht for entry, get free drink,” she said flashing a voucher. 

Paying and descending the stairs it was like something from The Flintstones, a cave of cream rock tunnelling us down to a cave and a long bar. 

“Fuck, looks great, but where are all the people,” I said as I cast my eyes across the empty dance floor.  Marching to the bar I picked up a menu ‘Deep Bomb, Sex on the beach, Black Russian, White Russian’ I looked for the most potent mix settling on ‘The Deep Bomb’ the bartender swinging into action and adding half a dozen spirits to his flask and shaking vigorously. 

“To Bubble,” I toasted as the guys held their drinks.

They looked as disappointed as me and I had a feeling we’d been had, the guys from the camp now partying at the best place in town, they’d sent us to a dud.

“I’m going to watch the football,” I said, “if it doesn’t get busy we’ll head somewhere else.”

Manchester United taking apart a disappointing Everton on the wall mounted screens I tried to work out the time difference at home.  

By eleven thirty Everton were buried and a trickle of new arrivals had become a torrent.  Two thirds Thai, the rest were Westerners in cheap looking t-shirts.  Reloading our glasses we stood at the edge of the floor.

 “Anyone fancy a dance,” I invited.

“Later,” Gunner replied

As the others swayed woodenly I set out taking my place beneath the stage. There were plenty of girls, standing around tables, dancing conservatively.  I tried to catch an eye and was surprised not to get a reaction.  It always worked at home, just concentrated my gaze and after a while our eyes would meet. I’d cross or she would and then we’d be set.  Returning to the table I found Freido staring into space.

“Where’s Gunner?”

He pointed back to the dance floor.  He was dancing with a girl who’d caught my eye.  Gently swaying from side to side as if trying to hypnotize her, I couldn’t believe it, my looks, my dancing, why hadn’t she gone for me?

I submitted my question to Freido.

"I can’t believe I didn’t get any attention."

He looked at me, an owly knowledge in his eyes.

"I’ve heard they like the older guys, they figure they’re the ones with money and they think they don’t expect so much in bed." 

As a slow song came on an hour later the DJ announced the end of the night.  Light suddenly illuminating the floor crowds surged for the exit, a girl brushing past and turning to say, “You want come Spicy? Everyone go Spicy now,” She called.

“Where’s Spicy?” I called but she was already gone.

Spotting Karl across the floor I resubmitted my question. 

“Spicy, Michael, Paul wants to know what Spicy is.”

“A diner, you know, take a girl eat pizza, drink shakes.”

Five minutes later I was sharing a songtaew with Freido and the Russian Weightlifting team.

“Where you come from?” a burly passenger enquired.

“England.”

“Ah England, Big Ben, I from Russia, weightlifter.”

“He just win gold medal in Asian Games,” his friend chipped in.

When the Russians got out I shot Freido a ‘Wouldn’t mess with those fuckers’ look and two minutes later the driver stopped again.

“O.K., this Spicy,” he said.

We were somewhere on the moat, but which side I couldn’t tell.  Stopping a passing local he pointed us down an alley. ‘That kind of place,’ I thought, I was ready for it now.

Making our way down we could hear a cackle of voices, the corridor opening to an outdoor eating area, rows of picnic tables occupied by groups noisily chatting over their drinks. Scanning the tables I spotted Gunner with his girl. 

“What is this place?” I asked taking a seat.

Gunner shrugged, “I think everyone comes here after Bubble.”

Picking up the menu I worked down the Thai dishes and stopped at spaghetti Bolognese.

“Not always like this,” a girl across the table piped up, “last year Bubble open late, but now have new law.”

“How come this place can stay open?”

“Pay Police.”

I sidled up to Gunner and whispered in his ear, "Nice work buddy, so, who’s the other girl?"

“Her sister.”

“So, you going to get some action tonight?”

He fixed me with a stare, “I don’t like to sleep with a girl on the first date, in Norway, I like to get to know someone.”

I waited for him to break into laughter.

“You’re serious?”

He kept looking at me.

“Well mate, this is Thailand, and if she makes you an offer do you really think you can say no?”

He twitched uneasily and turned to look at the menu.  I ordered Bolognese and whiskey and sat back scanning the scene.  Tables stocked with Thai girls, others a mixture of Thai and foreigners, there was hardly a male Thai in sight. 

“So, how do you think this place works?” I asked Freido.

“Man, I don’t know, but girls keep looking over.”

A paper aeroplane sauntered through the air and landed on our table. 

“What’s that?” I asked as Freido picked it up and turned to see the sender.  

“A message.”

He looked back to the paper, and again at the sender.

“That girl over there wants me to go to the bathroom.”

“The bathroom, why the fuck in the bathroom?” 

He turned excitedly and stared at his girl who pointed to the back of the restaurant.

“O.K. guys, back in a minute.”

I looked across at the sister, she was pretty, but not exceptional. 

“What’s your name?”

She blushed and told me.

“You like this place?” she shrugged lighting a cigarette. “Everyone like to come here, have many friends.”

I looked around again, everyone drunk, a mixture of girls, some stunning, others O.K., some ladyboys. 

“Fuck me,” Freido said returning, “I just got a blowjob”.

“You just got a what?”

“These girls are fucking crazy man, look around man, they’re hunting.” 

Five minutes later he’d joined his new friend and I looked around again. I’d never seen anywhere like it, every female scouting pray, no tiptoeing around the edges just waiting to catch an eye and moving for the kill.

As the night progressed I kept jabbing Gunner about the inevitability of him spending the night in company and as the tables emptied at four the girls indicated they were ready to leave. 

 “Gun, just go for it,” I said. “You’re in Thailand, no one’s going to know.”

“You don’t understand, in Norway, I never do like this.”

He looked concentrated, walking towards his girls’ bike and talking for a while. ‘Don’t do it then’ I thought ‘I’ll take her off your hands’ then he did it, the bastard climbed on board, waved and disappeared.  The sister saying goodbye and setting off in pursuit I turned to look back inside.  I caught the eye of a dumpy girl and not fancying that returned to the street. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ I thought. Looking in my wallet I had enough for a taxi but I’d failed, failed in my mission to meet a girl; perfect place, the magic number, my looks and I failed.  I punished myself with a walk home.

It was a good four kilometres back to the camp and I spent my time fantasizing about being picked up by a temptress. ‘Hey honey, where you go? You want me take you home?’ she’d say.

The lift never came, a couple of ladyboys screamed after me but that was my lot.  It felt like the anticlimax of a carnival, bunting and steamers layering the road as I kicked my way through them.  Only one thing could save a man on a night like that, it was porn.  Stopping at 7/11 I scanned the shelves, a bunch of titles aimed at women and teenagers but nothing to unburden my frustration on.  One kilometre to go I remembered a petrol station I’d seen on the university run.  It was a good thirty minute detour but employing my last dregs of sexual frustration I arrived and sank in disappointment to see the shelves bare, ‘Fucking Thailand! How the fuck? Why the fuck?’, the country which offered ladies by the night didn’t do porn.

Waking late on Sunday I decided to make up for the previous night with a massage, riding to Thapae gate and stopping outside a place where girls called into the street

‘Hey Mr, you want massage….?’ As far as I could make out the place was legit, but it didn’t stop me hoping. 

“You want massage?” the prettiest of the crowd said as she floated out to meet me. Leading me through a reception, a dozen girls sat lazily on sofas, an elderly madam guarding an antique till.  Passing through a side exit I followed up a set of rickety wooden stairs and emerged to a long room, straw mats laid out and a porky Westerner receiving attention on the floor in front of me.

“O.K., this Mani, she take care for you?” the pretty girl said as she left me in the company of an ordinary looking teenager. ‘So, that’s how it works,’ I thought, ‘one pretty face to drag the punters off the street'.

Sliding open a door leading to a private room she ushered me inside and closed it behind her.  She wasn’t a looker but sexual frustration near boiling point I clung to the hope that she might offer extras.

“Please take off clothes,” she instructed.

Erring on the side of caution I stripped to my shorts and wrapped a towel around my waist, lying face down as she pulled the curtains.  Climbing to straddle my back she began pressing against my neck.

“What your name?”

“Paul.”

“Poor.”

“Paul.”

“O.K. Poor, how long you stay Chiangmai?”

I launched into my spiel, been here two weeks, staying a few months.

“O.K., stop talking, just relax.”

Sharp twangs shooting as she worked I gritted my teeth and fantasized about the point when she’d offer the extras. Closing my eyes I slipped into a gentle doze for a time, stirring as I remembered a guy I’d met in Beijing. He’d gone for a massage in a five star hotel, by all accounts the masseuse a knockout he’d got up with an erection his towel couldn’t hide. I couldn’t shift the image from my head, the ginger artist from Cheltenham, penis extended like a drying rail. The longer it stayed, the harder I got.  

“You very tense,” Mani said as I tried to turn my thoughts to football and elderly women. Any lingering pleasure ruined by the effort, I managed to see off the erection and after two hours paid and walked into the blinding midday sun.

Darting across the street trying to avoid being mown down my tuk-tuks and motorcycles I made my way towards Jerusalem Falafel. The number one Israeli restaurant in town I reckoned it would be another treat to aid my recovery. Taking a table by the window it was a tidy looking place, blue and white décor, pictures of the holy land hanging from the walls. Picking up the menu I read a list of unfamiliar dishes and plumbed for the Falafel I’d tried in Amsterdam. The food arriving as a customer entered to collect takeaway I stared at the plate. It didn’t look like much, six small balls of meat, a measly serving of fries, a token gesture of salad at the side. Forking one of the falafels I bit in eagerly hoping the taste would soften my disappointment, it was bland. I dabbed the other half in humus and tried again with the same result. It wasn’t cheap by Thai standards, I paid begrudgingly and rode back to camp.

Approaching the shopping mall I suddenly returned to the previous night’s thoughts of porn.  An urge which couldn’t be laid to rest until satisfied I parked at the rear and made my way to a bookstore I’d spotted on a previous visit. I looked at the staff, a couple of young girls, a guy a similar age. 

I’d perfected the art of buying porn with my ex-wife, desperation driving me to a point where I could override any reservations about embarrassment.  Putting on my blinkers I spotted what I’d been looking for, wrapped in cellophane, the girl on the front clasping her hands over her breasts. I picked it up and placed it on the counter, the girl fanning it through the air as she turned to say something to her friend ‘scan it, scan it, scan it’.

“You want bag?”

“Yes.”

“One hundred and fifty baht,” she said turning back to her friend.  I held out the notes ‘take it, take it, take it’.

Back in my room I tore through the packaging, scanning quickly from front to back, it was all good.  I went through again, slower on my second run.  Something wasn’t right; I inspected one of the pages.  Where were the nipples? In every shot a strand of hair or well placed finger obscured the view, I kept flicking.  Now they’d shifted the angles each girl turned until they were just out of shot. ‘What the fuck’ I thought ‘Thailand a country where girls made themselves available everywhere didn’t do nipples’.  The girls stunningly beautiful I managed to masturbate anyway and lay back imagining the job of the photographer ‘What if he accidentally put one in,’ I thought ‘Jail, the death penalty?’.