Jan
12
2008
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Pattaya – Thailand: When John Gets Offended

After several days spent in Bangkok enjoying Khao San road and the local museums, galleries and Grand Palace (an entire day trip of splendour in itself) the time was right to head to the beach. In the pamphlets and brochures, Pattaya is a glorious stretch of white sandy beaches and azure ocean, replete with smiling locals and finely-bronzed tourists enjoying the wide open oceanside. Much like the rest of Thailand, really, Pattaya is not what it looks like. Nothing, in fact, could have prepared me for the sights that awaited me the moment I stepped off the shuttle bus.

Vegas Dave

Once off the shuttle, we were promptly told by our now-paid transport service that they cannot take us as far as Jomtien Lodge, the place where I had hoped we could locate easily and quickly. Leaving the money-grubbing tourist agency behind, we boarded the nearest beach taxi vehicle. The Pattaya beach taxis are essentially bakkie’s rigged with a canopied back, replete with padded seating for 8-12 passengers. Upon boarding, I was seated opposite a thin-looking American flanked by two of his fine escorts. Once off down the road, the American enquired as my nationality. After replying, he remarked “so you speak English, right?”. What then followed was a rather one-sided dialogue between myself and this man, who swiftly introduced himself as ‘Vegas Dave’ and that he was a famous dude back in the states. Jolly good. Then Vegas Dave exclaimed “Man I could sure use some blow right now.” The taxi’s engine was loud, so I figured I’d maybe misheard this good fellow. Surely he wasn’t talking about a hankering for some fine Bolivian Marching Powder? Alas, Vegas Dave then beamed “actually, I think I have some with me! Do you want some?” as he ruffled through his baggy shorts for his packet of cocaine. I declined, being not particularly partial to habitual drug use and all that. This was Pattaya after 5 minutes.

It turned out Vegas Dave was a 46 year-old American who had been staying in Pattaya for about two weeks, rutting with anything and everything, snorting coke and generally having a grand old time. He’d invited me to come play at his house – the sky lounge in a 5 star hotel on the beach – but I suffer from vertigo, so I politely declined, whilst trying not to appear disturbed that this drug-addled sex-fiend was my new best friend. My last sight of Vegas Dave was of his pale bum stumbling out of the taxi while his two Thai prostitutes tried in desperation to pull his pants up. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what Pattaya is about…

The beachfront is inhabited by a fair mix of English, German, Russian, Portuguese and other european geriatrics, the majority of whome are accompanied by seriously underaged Thai escorts, all clambering for their patron’s money. The beach was a crowded morass of beach chairs, jetskis and shady-looking pimps trying to sell you anything from hookers to speedboat rides. Pot-bellied Germanics dressed in nothing but a speedo is an image that will stay with me to my dying days. The bars and restuarants are full of these people, all with the same purpose. The malls and fast-food chains are packed with horrid little chav children, scoffing Burger King and generally acting like little savages while their parents run off on some lewd adventure. If I ever have children, and they wear gold neck chains and gaudy rings, so help me god I will put them up for adoption!

I realise many Europeans like to travel to the beach for a holiday in the sun and surf, but I honestly had no idea that there were places in this world where they fly halfway around the world in order to hire a Thai girl a third of their age and prance about in speedos, swigging beer and letting their filthy offspring run around like feral cats.
At first I was a bit shocked, to be sure. Vegas Dave was interesting, but I’d foolishly assumed it was a minor, albeit colourful, experience. But Vegas Dave, if anything, is the lord of his kingdom, rather than a minor anomaly. For the first time in a long, long while, I found myself offended. Well and truly offended. As long as I live I think I shall hold Pattaya as the bastion of vice and sin that I shall never, ever condone or accept. The level of depravity contained in that 2km stretch of beach represents to me the ultimate corruption of Thailand by the tourist industry. The place is completely ruined by tourism, and yet it thrives only because of the voracious appetites of the European pensioners. During the Vietnam War Pattaya was the only airforce base in Thailand that could host B52 bombers, thus making it a large port of call for US forces, and therefore creating a burgeoning tourist industry. Much like Bangkok, the US presence ignited the fires of tourism that have ultimately overtaken Thailand and has begun corrupting it indefinitely.

Pattaya is the epitome of this corruption. Certainly in the South of Thailand the coast has been regulated somewhat more responsibly, and I cannot draw too general a picture. But ultimately I have to wonder what other once-wonderful locations have been utterly spoiled by the developed world’s hunger for sex, sun and surf.

Written by admin in: Things Japanese |
Jan
08
2008
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Khao San

NOTE: This was written on a rather bumpy bus to the Cambodian border, so spelling and grammatical errors are inevitable. You’re all mostly literate so I expect you to deal with it!

-John

Located in the western part of Bangkok, Khao San road is essentially a 100 metre stretch of paved mercantilism. Lovingly wrapped in layers of food vendors, clothes shops, Sikh tailors and one-legged beggars, the place represents quite possibly the essence of what Bangkok is about once you’ve seen all the temples; a commercial den of epic proportions, inhabited by greedy-eyed Thai’s aiming to lift as much money out of your wallet as possible.

During the day you can buy anything from witty satirical tshirts to… well, witty satirical tshirts. Much like many touristy flea markets in SA, the vendors tend to sell almost exactly the same crap as one another. This is partially beneficial as this means one can haggle a price from one and attempt for better somewhere else. The downside, of course, is that you can spend 2 hours in Khao San road during the day and you would have seen just about everything noteworthy. Indeed, after several days of inhabitation in the area, I had started weary of the constant harassment by slick-looking Indians offering tailored suits and vendors running into my way trying to force their cheap trinkets on me. It’s offensive and loud, but worth seeing if only one can say they’ve seen Khao San road.

But at night the place changes considerably. From about 6pm onwards the tshirt vendors close up and make way for the plethora of makeshift bars and food vendors, eager to cater for the throngs of tourists out for a night of fun. And make no mistake, Khao San is packed to the gills with tourists, from all corners of the earth. Buckets of beer, cocktails of every concoction and shots of just about anything are on offer as you sit on cheap plastic chairs and watch the throngs file past you. Generally-speaking, buying drinks from these places tends to be considerably pricey. We opted instead for the 7/11, purchasing beer and thusly consuming it on the street (it’s legals in Thailand), which is ultimately a far more satisfying experience.

And then there is The Club. This fine monument to techno and house and every other mindless machine-made tune that is exported from Ibitha is located slap-bang in the middle of Khao San road. Replete with neon blue signs and giant streaming air-pillar things, the club makes one feel decidedly under-dressed when entering in slops and baggy shorts. Still, entrance is free for foreigners and the dress code is non-existent, so it’s both easy and affordable.

Anyone who knows me will realise that I generally loath house ‘ndoef ndoef” music in all it’s bastardised forms, but The Club holds a special place in my heart as it truly is an amazing experience when joined with good friends whilst travelling far away from home. Likewise, my fledgling Japanese ability is a key to instant friends in the club, as I am able to swiftly pick out the locals from the tourists, utter a quick “Nihon-jin desu ka?” and watch the amazement in their eyes as they realise the gaijin is talking their language. After a brief explanation of our lives and respective purposes therein, the new friends are officially introduced into the general population of the established friends (and one brother) and much merriment ensues.

The Club would likely suck were it not situated in Khao San road, but the fact that it’s so much fun when out on holiday means that many happy memories are made while thrashing one’s body to repetitive synthesised sounds. A few years from now, if someone asks me what I’ll remember most fondly about my time in Bangkok, it would likely be that spent in The Club with my brother and friends. There are similar and better places in Johannesburg, to be sure, but it would never be the same, nor would I want it to be.

Written by admin in: Things Japanese |

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