No Pattaya Playa

[Pattaya, 1/19/23]

Steps away from the go-go bars that have made Pattaya infamous, I sit in this city’s tamest tavern. There are no poles, thumping music or sexy photos of girls about to shake their thin hips, hang upside down or spread their legs in the air. Ain’t no coyotes here among the homely yet lovely waitresses.

On a high shelf opposite me are books by Ninni Schulman, Anna Jansson, Cathy Kelly, Inger Frimansson, Michael Connelly and Patricia Conwell, etc., the kind of garbage left by travelers in lobbies of cheap hotels the world over.

Behind me is a large photo of a rural scene with a barn and some tool sheds, nothing spectacular or even idyllic. As a reminder of home, though, it must be soothing to this joint’s clientele. I almost wrote “cocktease,” believe it or not, for it’s in the air here. A rotting barn with peeling paint is soothing because it’s a cocktease of everything you’ve lost.

Below the photo is a menu of 22 items. Since I can only decipher one, I’ll have to eat omeletti for breakfast, lunch and dinner, should I be locked inside here for the rest of my life, though, of course, I can randomly point at, say, savukinkku leipä, and hope for the best. I’m sure it’s good.

Escaping to alien environments to find what they can’t get at home, many old men still need to hear their language and eat what their mom or wife used to cook, so in Pattaya, there are bars for Russians, Aussies, Brits, Canadians, Swiss and Kiwis, etc. Lassi’s Place is meant for Finns and Swedes.

The biggest foreign presence here is Indian. Within three hours of getting off the bus from Bangkok, I spotted at least 30 Indian restaurants, and there’s a large Sikh temple near me. Pattayan Indians own hotels, nightclubs and even go-go bars, with Indian dancers.

Thai working girls, though, aren’t too fond of Indians, for too many try to get a special group rate. Why not, they figure. If one lady can accommodate three, four or five Indians within the same half an hour, she’ll still come out ahead, no?

This practice has birthed a Thai phrase, “one drink, five straws,” and even this joke, “If there’s a snake and an Indian in the same room, kill the Indian!”

Capetonian whores are similarly disdainful of Vietnamese fishermen. For being clean, generous and considerate, Japanese are their favorites.

In Bengaluru, I talked to an Indian ex executive at Yahoo! Some Indian employees would sneak their parents into the company’s cafeteria, he told me. “Indians like to save,” he frowned.

Writing this, I email my buddy, Jonathan, for his insights. Jonathan knows more about more countries than anyone I know.

Jonathan:

Thai prostitutes like Swedes. There are whole towns in Sweden where every guy has a Thai wife. I think the Scandis are considered polite, not alcoholic (like the Brits), not overweight (like the Americans) and not likely to be into weird scat play (like the Germans). 

I think Swiss men are also popular for sex and ultimately, hopefully, husbandhood.

Nineteen years ago, a German agreed to be killed and eaten by another German. Before his death, he even dined on his castrated penis with his partner. Love knows no bounds.

Pattaya’s most exotic offerings aren’t Thai but “Russian” dancers and prostitutes, with many actually from Ukraine, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan or Turkmenistan. White sex workers are already spreading across Asia, with many more to come, as white countries collapse. In five years, perhaps there will be Pattaya bars advertising “SEXY AMERICAN GIRLS!” and “AMERICAN SEXY SHOW!”

Some bar names: Titty Twister, Little Hole, Lucifer 2, Boyz Boyz Boyz and Crazy Russian Girls. Ice Room is kept at -11 degrees Celsius.

No Pattaya playa, I’ve done no more than strolling up and down Walking Street, but such a superficial gleaning also yields insights. Despite its loud signs, colored lights, insistent music and stream of people sexily dressed, determined to have a great time, there’s almost no festiveness here, much less joy. Understandably, there are few children, so their exuberant playfulness is absent.

There are many more grim or bored than cheerful faces, and many smiles are forced, as worn on bar girls standing outside to lure customers. The competition for the desperately horny is intense. Joking among themselves, sometimes these bar girls do giggle for real.

At night, three leggy blondes sit at a high table outside Crazy Russian Girls’ entrance. They are sexily yet elegantly dressed. If this wasn’t Walking Street, they would appear to be gorgeous clients at a chic cafe.

At a beer garden, there are fake muay thai bouts between out-of-shape fighters, with one more suited for a sumo ring. Three McDonald’s, a Burger King and a KFC are within easy waddling distance for this pretender.

At New Star Bar, a shirtless white man sits sheepishly on a rattan chair, across from his Thai companion. Ignoring him, she’s transfixed by her phone for minutes on end. In a dress that extends past her knees, she’s less exposed than the displaced foreigner who’s renting her.

At my blog, there are two comments on a photo of an old white man with an aging whore in a sexy black chemise. Dressed like a 12-year-old in brown shorts and a baby-blue T-shirt, bald, bespectacled and dentured grandpa looks rather lost, frankly, but no worries. His concerned prostitute is leading him by the hand.

Ron, “Alert: Not ‘lady boy’ BUT ‘Lady man.’ Some very twisted Western pensioners in Thailand.”

Anonymous, “As long as they can still walk, get on a plane, travel and are able to feel the fun, I congratulate them and wish them a good time before their time is up. Better than being sick and bed-ridden.”

To each his own, but I’ve felt no fun since arrival. Still, I’m glad to have a taste of this sex theme park. Just as a child may be delighted by a giant fake mouse or some creep in a Santa Claus suit, men whose time is nearly up are entitled to their pretend girlfriends.

Jonathan, “Quite possibly the most depressing place on earth, bro,” and that’s from a man who’s experienced a thousand cities.

Although iconic, Walking Street is only a tiny portion of Pattaya, and as a spectacle, it’s interesting enough. Fakeness, though, is always tiresome and even oppressive. With its fake smiles, boobs, girls, Russians and Muay Thai fighters, Walking Street is a colossal bore.

[Pattaya, 1/18/23]

[Pattaya, 1/18/23]

[Pattaya, 1/18/23]

[Pattaya, 1/18/23]

[Pattaya, 1/18/23]