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Eye Candy: White Wave
10 Sunday Apr 2011
Posted Dancing With the Devil, Eye Candy
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10 Sunday Apr 2011
Posted Dancing With the Devil, Eye Candy
in≈ Comments Off on Eye Candy: White Wave
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09 Saturday Apr 2011
Posted Dancing With the Devil, The World of Thailand's Gay Gogo Bars
in≈ Comments Off on Happy Birthday . . . Maybe. Kinda. Sorta.
Thais do not use the Western calendar. They have their own. And they count birthdays (and anniversaries) different too. To Thais, when a baby is born he is one year old. So a child celebrating his first birthday in the West is two years old in Thailand. Yup, all you old coots are even more ancient in the Land of Smiles.
Of course since this is Thailand, Thai logic rules. And the ‘year older’ thing just isn’t confusing enough. So lets add in the date of a Thai’s birthday. My friend Noom’s birthday is December 4th. What? You have a Thai friend with the same birthday? Amazing! Or not . . .
When Thais have a child, they have until the end of the year to register their baby. It’s not a lot of cash to do so, but many families save money during the year to cover the registration fee. The date the child is registered becomes his official date of birth. So a lot more Thais are ‘born’ at the end of the year than at the beginning.
The King, who the Thai people love greatly, was born on December 5th. It would be rude and presumptuous to pick that date to be your child’s birthday. But registering a birth date close to it has got to be a good omen. So December 4 is a popular date.
A great bar trick is to offer to guess a guy’s birthday (uh, choose December 4th). Half the time you’ll get it right. Even if you are wrong you’ll get a wide eyed look of amazement and he’ll point at some other boy in the bar saying that it is his birthday!
Thais are a superstitious lot. Lucky numbers are big. Lucky colors, too. My friend Noom always wants blue because that is the color of his birthstone. Because he was born in December. Though he probably was really born in April. Gotta love Thailand!
So Happy Birthday to everyone who was born on this date.
We’ll be holding your party in December.
08 Friday Apr 2011
Posted Dancing With the Devil, I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy
in≈ Comments Off on I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy: Pretty Boy!
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Chris was the tagalong addition to a small group of friends I’d invited to join me on my annual year-end trip to the Kingdom. He was a friend of a lesbian couple I’d invited, who in turn invited him. So we didn’t know each other before landing in Bangkok. In his late twenties, Chris is tall, very white, with dark hair and a nose too big for his face. But his height and limpid dark eyes save him from being homely. Some would even say he’s attractive. And he considered himself good looking enough that the idea of paying for sex while on holiday in Thailand was not part of the plan. However, being a gay man, getting laid was.
Obviously the majority of farang patrons of Bangkok’s gay go go bars are older guys. Some even qualify as ancient. Most are fat. Many bald. You look at them, especially those with that bitter scowl on their face, and think, “Duh. Of course they have to pay for sex.”
Conversely, the thinking is that younger guys, those still attractive and in shape, can get laid for free. They certainly don’t have to pay for sex back home, so it follows their sexcapades in Thailand will be free, too. But then, this is Thailand. And it is difficult to refuse the sweet smile and beautiful willing body of a Thai bar boy. Whatever the cost.
On our first night in town I started the group off easy by introducing them to Patpong’s less seedy night life on Soi 4. Chris was a hit with the fem waiters at The Balcony and had several admirers trying to flirt with him. It was funny watching his reaction. On one hand, he appreciated the attention. Probably much more than he ever got at home. On the other, he was uncomfortable; strange dark boys in a strange gay lane smack dab in the middle of what he’d been told was a neighborhood of whorehouses. When teasing him got to be old, the girls wanted to hit somewhere a bit more risque. That’s why they are my friends. I hadn’t yet called Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, so wanting to avoid Soi Twilight where he works, I took them over to Tawan for some muscle viewing. Just in time for the late show.
Having visited Thailand for over 25 years, the shows at the gay gogo bars of Bangkok have lost their appeal. Hard to believe naked guys performing sex acts on stage could become hohum, but there ya go. Experiencing a show with newbies to that world reminded me of how damn exciting those shows can be. When we got to Tawan, Nut, a muscle stud who works there who is an old friend of mine, spotted me right away and came over. The girls were speechless staring at his beefy – and near naked – body. Chris, who had earlier claimed he didn’t like muscled guys, was drooling. We stayed through the show, and I made sure Chris’ lap got to participate in the grand finale. Chris seemed to be more appreciative than I have ever been about having a naked Thai boy being fucked while invading your personal space. The girls, who couldn’t stand up straight from laughter, had to be helped out of the bar.
Our second night in town we headed to Dick’s for dinner. After ordering I ran up to Noom’s bar to off him for the duration of the trip. Back at the restaurant, Noom in his typically gregarious manner, made instant friends with the girls and Chris. Or so he thought. I don’t think Chris was quite as taken with Noom as Noom was with Chris. It started with a hand shake. Then Noom looked at him, sizing Chris up, and announced, “You gay.”
Laughter all around. No offense taken; the whole group was gay, sitting at a gay restaurant on a gay street filled with gay bars. But Noom didn’t mean ‘gay’ but rather his interpretation of gay which means ’not a Man.’ That’d be a bottom to you.
Noom, in reference to his soft features and long eyelashes, immediately dubbed Chris ‘Pretty Boy’ and called him that the rest of the trip. But for tonight, Noom was there to help. In his experience gay guys only come to Thailand for one thing: sex. And the place to get sex is a gay go go bar. And Noom wanted to find Chris the perfect guy. So he immediately followed up by questioning Chris about the kind of guy he liked.
It started with, “You like big cock?”
“Um, no. I mean, yes. I mean no, I don’t want a guy. I’m fine,” Chris stammered.
Knowing better, Noom shot back, “Oh, yes! You like big cock! You Pretty Boy!”
The girls were rolling on the floor with laughter. “You want muscle boy, you want young boy?” Noom asked trying to narrow down the type of guy that would make Chris happy.
“No! I’m fine!” Chis asserted. “I don’t want a boy!”
“No, you want Man!” Noom cooed. “You Pretty Boy!”
By now the girls were hysterical and aping Noom’s ‘Pretty Boy’ cry. Chris was quickly moving from embarrassment, to being uncomfortable, to getting pissed. Noom sensed his change in attitude and was completely confused. He’d only been trying to help. He turned to me, concerned, “I no understand.”
Taking the easy way out, I replied, “he shy.”
“Oh, shy! Pretty Boy shy!” Noom crowed with complete understanding.
He backed off a bit, giving Chris some space with Chris emphatically mumbling, “I. Don’t. Want. A. Boy!”
We finished dinner and polished off a few rounds of drinks, then Noom felt it was time for his new fiends to visit his bar, Clapping his hands twice, he announced, “We go!” and led us up the stairs for showtime at Hot Male.
Tawan has a totally different ambiance than the other gay gogo bars in Bangkok. The air there reeks with testosterone, the scent of sweaty jockstraps courtesy of the bar’s beefy muscle bar boys. It’s a muscle worshiper’s heaven. Hot Male, on the other hand, is just plain sleazy, the ambiance as dark as a convict’s soul. Located where the infamous Twilight Bar once squatted, it has a reputation to uphold. And Noom too had a reputation to uphold. One of double duty. He had that Thai sense of responsibility of ensuring his new friends were happy and having a good time. And he had a responsibility to his bar mates of ensuring if anyone on the soi landed the fresh meat he had in tow, it’d be a boy from Hot Male. Poor Chris didn’t stand a chance.
But he tried. He made sure he sat with the girls and me between him and Noom. No problemo. Noom leaned across the three of us, grabbing Chris’ leg and asked, “What boy you like?”
Chris, in a fresh panic tried again. “I. Don’t. Want. A. Boy!”
So we ordered drinks instead while the parade of boys in their white shorts listlessly made their way across the stage. Noom surveyed his bar mates, looking for the perfect choice for his new friend, oblivious to Chris’ reluctance. Meanwhile the girls teased Chris cooing ‘Pretty Boy’ into his ear. I took pity on the boy and went over to sit next to him.
“Look,” I said. “He’s just trying to help. And he’s not going to stop until he feels you’ve been taken care of. So just pick a guy. He’ll come sit by you, you buy him a drink. Talk. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything.”
Reassured somewhat, Chris lightened up. But not after first checking to see what this would cost him. Chris is cheap. Really, really cheap. I slipped him 100 baht and told him that would cover it (I’d already planned on covering the check bin). And Chris took that first step down the slippery slope into the world of whoredom: he admitted that #18 looked good. Ha! I called Noom’s name, nodded at Chris, nodded at #18, and Noom did the rest. Soon Chris was joined by Toon, a dark skinned beauty. And yes, a Man. Great smile, nice chest. I left him to Chris as I heard Toon start the familiar refrain, “Where you from?”
The girls drink like fish. No pun intended. So we had quite a few rounds, growing more boisterous as the night progressed. I’d look over to check on Chris every now and then. He was becoming good friends with Toon. Maybe he was too young and too okay looking to have to be buying companionship in Bangkok, but he seemed to be enjoying the attention and I noticed his hand kept rubbing along the length of Toon’s bare leg. It was getting late and the bar would soon close. Seeing the party wasn’t close to being over, Noom suggested we finish the night at G.O.D.
Disco? Yup, the girls were ready to dance. I went back over to Chris to let him know he was off the hook, that we were headed to a club to dance. “But what about him?” he asked.
“Uh. Well,” I said, considering how best to sum up his options. “If you want him to come along, you’ll have to tip him.”
Cheap Chris came back quickly with, “How much?”
I’d already figured on covering the off fee, and I got a kick out of the ‘I don’t pay for sex’ Chris already trying to negotiate the price for a night’s companionship. Might as well just lay it out. “Just to the club, 500 baht,” I said. “If you want him to come back to the hotel, 2,000.”
“What!” Cheap Chris exclaimed. “I can’t afford 2,000!”
Uh, huh. Forget the ‘just to the club’ option. And no argument about paying for sex either. His argument was on the price. “Never mind,” I told him. “My treat.”
Hey, it’s not that I’m that generous. But playing a part in Chris’ downfall into the sleazy world of commercial sex had an appeal. I’m twisted, what can I say? More so, I knew Noom would be happy that his new friend was being cared for and that he’d scored a customer for one of his bar mates. And if you can’t drop $85 on a whore for a friend, then just what in the hell is money for?
We closed G.O.D. down that night. The six of us piled into and onto one tuk tuk for a fierce and frightening ride back to the hotel. Chris had a sheepish yet satisfied look on his face the next morning at breakfast and didn’t even seem to mind Noom blaring “Pretty Boy!” when he shuffled into the restaurant, sans Toon who’d already headed home. The next night Chris and I hit a bar on our own. You’d have thought he was an old pro by the masterful manner he displayed in buying himself a new companion for the evening. I guess his previous night’s experience proved to him the price was worth it. Everywhere we visited on the two week trip, if a gay gogo bar was to be found, Chris had a new stud riding him to sleep that night.
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07 Thursday Apr 2011
Posted Hong Kong, Travel Tales from Beyond Thailand
in≈ Comments Off on Speaking The Language Of The Foreign White Devil
When I visit relatives back east, they comment on my Californian accent. Right. I speak as announcers do on TV, the proper way; their accent is the abomination. But I digress . . .
So in a foreign land, it’s not just the different language that can be a barrier, but your accent as well as their’s. Case in point, a minor translation problem on my first trip to Hong Kong. I kinda cheated on that first trip by taking my friend Dave with me. He spent his formative years there, graduating from high school from The Hong Kong International School. So he was familiar with the island and its people and I was set for an exotic trip complete with local guide. Dave was out to impress, but ran afoul of his plans almost from the minute we landed.
Off the plane, through customs and out into the sultry night . . . sultry is probably an understatement. The humidity was so oppressive it had a physical presence, the weight of the air unbearable. The line for taxis was relatively short and within a few minutes we hopped into a cab. Dave gave the driver our destination. “Ramada Hotel,” he ordered in an imperial voice. ( No attempt at local slang, but then though he is Hawaiian, in China he qualifies as Caucasian and he was dealing with a local Chinese. I guess that whole colonial master thing was ingrained in him from having once lived in the colony).
Down the highway the cabbie flew as only an Asian cab driver can. While totally disregarding rules of the road and any other driver stupid enough to try and share the road with him, our driver chattered away to his dispatcher via radio for a few minutes before turning to Dave and questioning, “Ramada?”
Uh, oh. Now I knew the Ramada couldn’t be some unknown dive as we were being put up by a large corporation who’d flown us to Hong Kong to look at a new type of carpeting that they’d installed at the airport. Yep, free trip. Way cool. The cabbie’s confusion didn’t bother Dave, who I guess figured further information was all that was needed and replied (in that same voice), “Kowloon”.
Wow! Quick exit off the freeway and off we shot back the way we’d just come. Guess the ‘Kowloon’ info was important. More chattering over the radio with his dispatcher. Then a timid and unsure query, “Ramada?” as he looked once again at Dave as though some instantaneous spark of comprehension would strike.
No such luck, so instead he tried repeating the word as a mantra while piling down the road, “Ramada . . . Ramada . . . Ramada”.
Dave tends to have a short fuse. By now it ignited. And as many English speaking folk do when confronted with someone who doesn’t speak their language, he tried again only repeating himself louder, “RAMADA!”
Dave is 6’ 4”, weighs over 250 lbs. and has a real scary, snarly look on his face when displeased. Our driver, no Bruce Lee, probably weighed in a bit over 90 lbs. and immediately began jabbering with his dispatcher again, probably alerting him to his impending doom at the hand of this crazy white devil.
So he’s busy babbling to his dispatcher, occasionally repeating the word ‘Ramada” while Dave is practically yelling the same word at the top of his lungs and we’re zipping past other cars on our way to God knows where . . . though probably not our hotel. Then, after some more incomprehensible prattle from the radio, our cabbie gets a look of celestial blessings on his face and says, “Ah! Ra Ma Da!”
Quick freeway exit, two lefts, and we pull up in front of our hotel, the Kowloon Ramada, better known as the Ra Ma Da. Happy cabbie; he’s still alive. Happy me, after 15 hours of flying I see a bed in sight. And a pissed off Dave, who assumes I now think he’s a total ingrate and stooge when it comes to being a tour guide of the colony. Hey, but he introduced me to the Temple Street Market and its fortune tellers, as well as numerous pubs and bars, so I’d still give him two thumbs up for showing me the local sights.
06 Wednesday Apr 2011
Posted It's A Gay World
in≈ Comments Off on Where Did You Sleep Last Night
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06 Wednesday Apr 2011
Posted Monk Shot!, Travel Photography
in≈ Comments Off on Monk Shot! #13
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As a self-proclaimed monk picture taking addict, when I’m out and about in Thailand that vivid saffron color always grabs my eye. I’ve captured shots of monks of all ages, but the ancient ones always add a certain ambiance to the shot. This is one of my favorite ‘old monk’ shots, snapped one morning on the Chao Phraya express boat.
05 Tuesday Apr 2011
Posted Tales
in≈ Comments Off on In Search of Love, Money, or a Big Dick
“I don’t want to go to some stupid amulet market,” Helena huffed, giving the idea her stamp of disapproval: “TT.”
Helena was one of a pair of dykes I’d brought along on my year end trip to Thailand. She’d coined her TT phrase at the airport, meaning ‘Too Thai,’ and used it repeatedly throughout the trip to show displeasure with any place she didn’t want to visit, or anything with the slightest Asian flare her partner wanted to buy. Turns out, short of the hotel’s bar, to Helena, everywhere in Thailand was TT.
We’d hit the Grand Palace and Wat Pho on day #1 and Helena was already watted out, firmly putting her foot down on the idea of visiting any more temples in Thailand. Nights spent at the bars in Patpong were cool. And she liked shopping at MBK and Platinum Mall, but even there the echo of TT floated down the aisles. By the time the weekend rolled around I was beginning to wonder why she’d paid a few grand to make the trip if what she really wanted was an American version of a foreign land. She’d have been better off taking the hour drive to Disneyland and spending her weekend cruising the It’s A Small World ride. But then I don’t think you can get Patron Silver at Disneyland.
I’ve always held when travelling with friends, ‘you can come along for the day or not, up to you’ is a good way to go. No reason to force someone with a lack of interest to spend their day doing something they have no desire in doing. So come Sunday morning I announced to our small group I was headed off to the amulet market and asked if anyone was interested in joining in. Helena huffed out her TT thing. Dee, her partner, was loving everything about Thailand and wanted to go. Chris chimed in on the positive, too. Being a gay man, he’d heard market and assumed there was shopping involved. Helena finally agreed. TT or not, she didn’t want to be left alone. And the hotel’s bar didn’t open for another three hours.
One of my favorite pastimes in Thailand is shopping. Another is people watching. Throw in eating and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a Bangkok street market. Every guide book will tell you about the Patpong night market. And if your hotel is anywhere along Sukhumvit you’ll stumble onto that area’s vending extragavansa, which really reaches full bloom at dusk. Khosan Road, the Chatuchak weekend market, and Bo Bae wholesale clothing markets all qualify as overblown versions of street markets, and are all well known. But for me, the perfect trifecta of food, people (monks!), and shopping is a Sunday morning at the Wat Mahathat Amulet market by the Grand Palace.
It’s a ‘color’ day trip, so the best way to get there is the Chao Phraya Express boat. From Saphan Taksin BTS station and the Central Pier, it’s a 14 baht, 30 minute boat ride up the river. After the touri hordes get off at Tha Tien Pier (N8), one more stop will bring you to the Tha Chang Pier (N9). Before you even get out of the pier’s crumbling wood shelter, the Tha Chang market begins. Inside, there are a few tchotchke stalls but as soon as you hit open air, the plaza is packed with street-side food vendors offering an amazing array of tasty Thai dishes. Lots of snacks and drinks, fried meat and fruit, and mini food court version places spilling mouth watering dishes into the narrow walkways. The food stalls’ umbrellas trap the smoke from cooking fires sending it drifting just inches above the heads of the passing crowd; tempting aromas fill the air. Grab a snack now, or pick out the best of the lot for an inexpensive lunch when you’re on your way back to your hotel.
A 7/11 half way up on the left side is a popular spot to grab water or juice to stay hydrated under Bangkok’s blistering sun. Shuffle your way up to the intersection of Thanon Mahathat and Na Phra Lan Road and the crowds thin a bit with touri spitting off. Some head right toward Wat Pho, others straight ahead for the Grand Palace, and a larger group of befuddled travellers quickly fall prey to the ‘The Grand Palace Is Closed’ scam, whisked off by tuktuk to an overpriced jewelry store brimming with colored gems and jewelry of dubious quality.
If you head right, there is a rag tag collection of vendors claiming swatches of pavement selling a variety of used goods. Shoes, clothing, electronics, and computer parts spread over old blankets line the walkway. Cheap plastic jewelry mixed in with piles of clay amulets compete for space with eclectic collections of antique coins, brass statutes and a whole gamut of used fashion accessories. Touri prices are displayed on beat up cardboard signs, the locals know better. This over-spill of the Tha Chang food stall market lines the shady lane most days of the week providing a break to the monotonous walk down to Wat Pho (Uh, should have gotten off at the Tien Pier). On Sundays, it’s a bit busier and a larger number of sellers form a gauntlet of consumerism that looks suspiciously like a bad flea market back home.
Instead, when you hit Mahathat Road, hang a left toward Thammasat University. There the sidewalk is immediately taken over by the street-side stalls of the Mahathat Amulet Market, one of Bangkok’s oldest markets and probably the best place in town for buying religious paraphernalia. During the week there are few vendors and even fewer customers. But on Sunday, hundreds of merchants join the established street-side stores to form a bustling pedestrianized market along the leafy boulevard brimming with atmosphere, monks, and shophouses from the King Rama V era.
The market is meant for religious locals rather than touri. You won’t find typical souvenirs, T shirts, or Thai handicrafts made in Viet Nam. You will find lots of Thais. It seems that the whole city comes here to talk, trade, and shop for the perfect amulet, a magic cure for whatever ails or troubles them. A fantastically colorful people watching scene, monks gather in clusters perusing the merchandise; dainty dowagers dressed up in their finest share the sidewalk with cool dudes who look like they belong on Khosan Road, and scrofulous old men gather in groups, pawing through dusty piles of Buddha images. The goods on display are fascinating, the taste of local culture sublime.
Rickety tables overflow with goods offering everything a devout Buddhist needs: tusks and antlers, dentures from hallowed monks, images of the Buddha, Hindu Gods, and famous monks formed of bronze, wood or clay. Savvy shoppers study the amulets with a magnifying glass, hoping to find just the right one to bring good luck or ward off bad spirits. The street is filled with jewelry, both gemstone and gold, along with tiger teeth and skins, magic potions, and phallic charms. Amulets made of clay, bronze, and pot metal are everywhere. The expensive ones have been blessed by a monk, buy a cheap one and you will need to find a monk to empower it for you.
Chris spent his time debating over his need for a wood dildo inscribed with a Thai blessing, possibly the magic charm that would land him a winner on his nightly prowl through Bangkok’s gay gogo bars, or that’d bring him some comfort if he returned home alone. Dee flitted from one stall to the next, looking for a cure for love gone sour to combat the bad patch she was struggling through in her relationship with Helena, and not happy that all charms offered for her purpose seemed to involve a penis. “Haven’t they ever heard of lesbians in Thailand!” she wailed.
Helena found an amulet vendor who spoke excellent English and abandoned her TT attitude while he patiently explained what temple each amulet came from and what purpose each one served. Avoiding the scary voodoo-like objects; cloth dolls, crocodile heads, and tree parts that looked like people, she was on the hunt for a small amulet to wear around her neck, a promise of good luck, good fortune, and money. With an emphasis on money. Wealth was what it was all about as she’d hold one up that caught her eye and query, “Money?”
Down a shady side street lined with life size Buddha images cast in bronze or hacked out of wood, then back out again to the bustling street, Dee moved on, her quest altered into a search for a talisman for good health; screw the love, I just need to stay alive. Chris took up Helena’s pursuit for wealth, but made an abrupt stop each time more peni came into view. Helena held firm to her purpose, finally settling on not a single amulet but a necklace full of charms guaranteed to bring her some cold hard cash. They all enjoyed the morning’s outing and all came back with handfuls of Buddhist blessings. And I decided, considering the Thai peoples’ love affair with money, that Helena herself may be just a little TT.
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05 Tuesday Apr 2011
Posted Bangkok, Travel Photography
in≈ Comments Off on Bonus Shot: Blessing for Luck
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A vendor sprinkles Chrysanthemum blossoms over his stock of amulets, blessing the blessings in hope of a prosperous day at the Mahathat Amulet Market.