Chapter 7 Diarrhea

Waking to the sound of folk music outside I gazed at my alarm clock seeing it was 6.00 p.m. and remembering it was market night on the main drag through the old city.  I didn’t need anything in particular but with nothing better to do I rode down and walked the strip. I didn’t consider myself a tourist in Chiangmai, more like an agent on a deadly mission.  I observed the passing faces, older men with petite Thai girlfriends, the traveller crowd in flowing cotton trousers doing the hippie thing, proper gap yearers who’d step off the plane at home and straight into their suits, the package holiday makers suffering from sunburn and overeating.

Sidestepping into a temple food stalls were laid out and I scanned the dishes picking up a rice concoction and grabbing a fruit juice before returning to the street to scrutinize the merchandise. Everything was handmade, vendors sat on mats with their crafts laid out in front of them; Buddha paintings, cards, paper lamps, they were things worth buying just for the effort which had gone into them. Each item a reflection of the person who’d created it.

Tired after an hour I returned to sleep and woke to the turning of my bowels.  Rushing to the bathroom I sat and waited, my rectum exploding with a rush of air.  Nothing much seemed to come out but as I stood to survey the bowl it was black.  Returning to bed when my alarm rang out in the morning I stood briefly and slipped back beneath the sheets.

I visited Andy in afternoon.

“Hey, missed you at training this morning.”

“Yeah, got a bit of diarrhea.”

“Diarrhea, that’s a nasty one.  I wouldn’t worry about parasites, it’s probably not that but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days.”

I shuddered at the mention of parasites, my hippie friend Craig had picked them up in India, swore to this day they were still living inside him.

“Should I eat anything?”

“Not for a couple of days, drink lots of Coke, Coke’s got plenty of sugar, lots of energy.  If it’s not better in a couple of days I’ll run you to the hospital.”

Returning to my room I lay down considering my predicament.  In a way it was just what I needed, a valid excuse to break from the gruelling regime.  Having trained constantly since my arrival I felt my body had called for a rest and I was ready to take it.  Time on my hands I started writing up my journal, ‘Training going well up until enforced break, managed to complete every session and confident Muay Thai will give me the fitness I need for The Legion.  Had a good night out on Saturday…..’  As I wrote that I stopped I had, had a good night; Bubble, Spicy, the girls, it was like nothing I’d ever imagined.  I decided I’d allow myself to go out at weekends, Saturdays, possibly Fridays too.  As long as I ran and did my exercises I reckoned I have what I needed.  More importantly, on my next night out I wouldn’t fail, no matter what, I was going to find a girl.   

Meeting Jay on Wednesday he asked how I was feeling and it struck my energy levels had soared.  On a diet of Coke and dry bread my body had been flushed clean. The break in training allowing my fitness gains to make themselves known.  It was the ironies of being in full time training, constantly exhausted the only time you really knew how fit you were was when you stopped.  The diarrhea still hanging around by Thursday Andy drove me to the hospital.

“You use this place much?” I asked as we sat waiting.

“The doctor you’re seeing treated my cancer, nice guy from India, been here about fifteen years.  If one of the boys gets injured, I bring them here.”

“And do they get injured?”

“Not often, it’s usually one of the Westerners.  I had a guy training with me a few months back who broke his arm in a fight.  It was his fault, didn’t block properly.  Anyway, he stayed on a couple more months and I let him fight again, broke the same arm.  That doesn’t happen often”

“Mr Adamson,” I looked up to see a pretty nurse with a folded napkin clipped to her hair, leading us to a small room where a plump Indian sat reading my card. 

“Nice to see you Andy, not seen you much recently,” he started.

After a couple of minutes catching up he turned to me.

“So my young friend, what are your symptoms?”

“Just diarrhea.”

“No nausea? Not feeling faint?”

“No, feel on top of the world actually.”

“Well, in that case I don’t think its parasites.”

That was a relief and taking my prescription I paid and received two bottles of anonymous pills.

That night I joined a party riding to a festival of fights in the countryside, travelling for an hour until we arrived at a carnival.  A temporary boxing ring at the centre, there were strings of lights overhead, stalls laid out selling snacks and drinks.  I wandered off alone buying a bottle of water and standing behind a group of drunken elders to watch a fight.  Spotting Ben across the ring I was surprised to see him smoking.  The fittest boxer in the camp it was reassuring in a way, confirmation it couldn’t keep me from my goal and in another respect a challenge, seeing if I could keep up the habit and still compete in the runs. I walked across and stood next to Oren.

“Ben smoke much?” I asked.

“Ben like, never seen him without a fag when we’re out, but you’ve seen the guy train, super fucking fit.”

Two more days without training I finished reading about Geishas and I felt I got a good insight.  Women trained from childhood in a prescribed list of talents.  It was a romantic story, the main character crying in the street as a child and being comforted by a businessman who offers her his handkerchief.  Years later she meets him as a Geisha, they fall in love and she still has his handkerchief. 

Hearing Zac return after Friday’s training I knocked the door and entered. 

“How’s it going?”

“Good Man, how about you?” he questioned.

“Diarrhea all week, but I’m thinking about another night out.”

“Well, if you want to join me I’m heading out about 8.00.”

Meeting outside the Cherry Mart he told me to wait as he disappeared inside and re-emerged clutching a bottle of whiskey and a green tea.

“A trick I learned for the budget traveller,” he said pouring half the tea to the ground and refilling the bottle with whiskey.

“I’m here on a budget, so this works for me.  Just put it in your pocket when you walk in a club.”

I bought my own tea and Zac topped me up from his whiskey.  Eating at the same place as the previous week, at ten I followed him to The Rooftop Bar near the Thapae Gate.  Climbing four flights of stairs and emerging to a balcony of bean bags and low tables.

“I like to start out here, kind of sets up the night,” he said.

Talking for two hours about Muay Thai and the delights of being in Thailand we gazed over the city.  ‘This is the way it’s got to be,’ I thought, ‘imagine a life where I didn’t get to spend nights like this’.  The mountain was lost to the darkness, only the lights of the temple visible at its peak.

In Bubble for twelve I could feel the whiskey, the dance floor packed as I took a Deep Bomb cocktail and made my way to the stage.  My ex-wife had been a great dancer and as happens when you spend a lot of time with someone her moves had gradually rubbed off on me.  I stepped into the routine, face emotionless, lips pouting, turning confidently. A girl moved in from behind and just as I thought I was about to make contact Zac stepped in. Wearing a baseball cap and his Lanna Boxing t-shirt his rap dancing looked ridiculous but she responded.  ‘Not again’ I thought. 

Moving to Spicy I chatted to Zac’s girl while he visited the bathroom.

“You like Chiangmai?” I asked.

“Yes like, I just come back from Australia,” she smiled.  She had what I’d describe as Eurasian looks, almost Indian, tall, sharp features but perfectly set.  Even her metal braces couldn’t detract from the idea I wanted to sleep with her.

“Whereabouts?”

“Brisbane, I live with my husband.”

“Australian?”

“Yes, nice man at first, but after we go Australia sometimes he not talk to me.  Just sit with his friends when we go out like I not there.  I have job in Thai restaurant so I save some money, and then I just want come back.  Hey, you like football?”

“Newcastle.”

She smiled.

“My team Manchester, we play Newcastle tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“You want come my bar?”

Agreeing to meet her I took note of the address and kept the invitation to myself.  It was another night of failure but the promise of a date the following evening made the walk home less painful. 

The next afternoon I spotted Zac as he arrived midway through training. 

“Hey, how was last night?” I asked as he tied his wraps.

“A little weird actually.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, well, you saw the girl I was with last night.  After I left you she took me back to her place and there was some guy there.  She called him her brother but it wasn’t her real brother.  Anyway, I spent the night with both of them.”

“Fuck, nice work, so I take it not much happened.”

He looked to the ground, “Well, no, actually we did get it on.”

“With the guy in the same bed?”

“Right, I’m lying there with her on top of me and this guy keeps reaching over with his hand.”

“And you did what?”

“Just pushed him away, but he was pretty persistent.”

The fact that Zac had spent the night with the girl I was planning to sleep with would have held me back at home but in Thailand I figured most of the girls were operating on a one guy per night basis anyway, whether it was Zac’s or someone else’s I didn’t really care, tonight, just for one night she’d be my Thai girl. 

Recruiting Gunner for the mission we passed through the city and arrived for my appointment at nine. Just off the road from the girlie bar it was a tiny place, half a dozen tables and a single customer sat with his beer.

“Hello again,” I said approaching the bar.

“Ah you come, good.” she said looking pleased. “You want drink.”

“Two Chang’s please.”

She smiled her bracey smile and turned to fix the drinks. 

“What’d you think?” I asked Gunner as we took our table.

“Not bad.”

“I’ve got to get some action tonight, I was so pissed when Zac took this girl home last night.”

“You should come out with my girl’s sister,” he offered as I watched her at the bar.

“How’s that little thing going? 

“Nice, last night I went to her restaurant, she cooked me dinner, very nice.”

I turned as a motorbike revved in behind, cursing in disbelief to see the rider, Lanna t-shirt, baseball cap, ‘Zac’. 

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” he called as he strode towards the bar.

“Man that blows it for me,” I said throwing my head to the table.

Watching him making wisecracks he was everything I’d come to expect in an American; brash, overconfident, a mouth that kept talking without really saying anything.

“Well guys, another magnificent night” he said as he joined our table.

“I thought you had another date tonight,” I said.

“Yeah, that girl had to go see her parents, thought I’d exercise another option.”

It seemed so unfair, not just the fact that my inferior competition had taken my girl, he was taking all the girls, moving through them one by one, it just wasn’t sporting. 

When the girls closed the bar at midnight we moved to Bubble and finished in Spicy.  Zac sitting with his girl I looked at our other companions, a dwarf girl from the bar and a tall broad shouldered ladyboy.  It was the first time I’d been so close to a ladyboy, a layer of foundation hiding her peppery skin, eyebrows drawn in thick mascara, she wasn’t petite enough to be attractive.  Looking over she pouted, 

“You have a light honey?”

The scene was as it had been the previous week, tables overflowing with pretty girls, steaming fish bubbling on tables as white shirted waiters circled through the crowd.  When Spicy closed the girls invited us back to their bar and Zac’s girl looking bored I sensed he might be losing his grip.

“Gun, you gonna give me a bit of support here?” I enquired.

Gunner accenting the six of us slipped back to the bar, entering one by one and Zac’s girl closing the shutter behind us.  We talked drunken talk and with every passing hour I prayed for Zac to leave.  ‘If I could just get her alone’ I thought.  Yawning at five and seeing he wasn’t getting what he wanted he left, Gunner following.  I stayed until six but eventually seeing that the night was over for me too I left with the ladyboy, letting her build up a lead and watching as she stopped to wait for me.

“Where you go?” she said.

It was an invitation and I wasn’t accepting.

“Home, sleep.”

I gunned the engine and occasionally looked back to see she hadn’t followed.  Too tired to feel frustrated I was satisfied that I’d done all I could and sure if I kept up my efforts I’d soon be rewarded.

Returning to training in my fourth week I was refreshed after my enforced break, accepting my first rounds of sparring with a Thai from the camp stable.  As I stood in the corner I thought about my game plan, ‘Keep your hands up, jab, jab, right combination and work the body’, ‘Try to learn not hurt each other’.  Wearing a head guard my opponent peered over his gloves.  He had the typical Thai physique, short, six-pack, wiry muscular build.  When the bell rang I waited for him to move forward and snapped out a jab cross satisfied to see both shots land.  Watching him circle me I tried again with the same result.  Not offering anything in return I waded forward delivering combinations until I’d backed him to the ropes and remembering the body shot swept in a left hook to his rib.  Judging by the trainer’s encouragement I was doing well. 

The second round started in the same vein, then crack a straight jab through my gloves.  I kept going, crack, the same again, followed by a stiff right.  My opponent was giving away a good ten kilos but his power was ferocious.  As we moved to the third minute I dropped my guard and received a flurry of shots to the head. 

“One more, one more,” the trainer called.

I nodded and spent a final round accepting my punishment.  He’d bided his time, now moving through his private workout, shot after shot ringing against my brain.  Finishing the third my opponent tapped me on the head, “Good,” he said.

Staggering from the ring, I was hit by the unexpected sensation of wanting to throw up. It was the last thing I’d expected, my stomach somehow turned by punches to my head. 

“You know who that was?” I looked up to see Danish Thomas looking at me.

“Songpom, ninety nine fights.  It’ll be a hundred this weekend.”

I was satisfied at that news; I’d been in with a professional and not only survived but given a good account of myself.  Sitting for a couple of minutes I moved to look in the mirror, red marks prominent where his gloves had grazed my forehead.  It was great, being tested, being pushed, another intense session which let me know I was alive.  As the urge to hurl intensified I walked to Cherry Mart buying ice and staggering to my room where I lay on my bed letting the knots in my head unravel themselves.     

    

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?’.