A Foreign Affair

Tom Waits in concert 1976

A friend cornered me during a social event the night before last, breathlessly relating yet another tale of a bar boy who had become the love of his life. As he's quite the butterfly while on the road I had to ask (to his chagrin) which of his rented admirers this might have been.

To be clear: I have no problem whatsoever with people who are primarily sex tourists - whatever floats your long boat, I say. As long as they show their rented admirers some respect and treat them as they'd themselves wish to be treated, what's the problem with being a participant in the transactions of the World's Oldest Profession? My grandfather used to say "as long as you don't do it in the streets and scare the horses", and that's probably as handy a measure to use as any. But I've already veered off topic, so let's return to my friend's new love.

I've known him for at least 20 years, and while he's a good-hearted person overall he's a strongly opinionated, my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy. The closest I've ever come to coming out on top in a debate is to agree to disagree about the topic at hand; the best one can hope for when talking with someone who has more immovable opinions than Thailand has motor scooters. As usual, I simply smiled, said "good for you" and wished him luck. I suggested he keep his emotional guard up and keep his options open.  Hearing him speak two breaths later of soon getting back to the clubs in Bangkok I'm guessing that's precisely what he's going to do!

The overwhelming majority of stories I hear from people who are on the prowl while on holiday are more firmly footed in the land of the short term (or butterfly) relationships. I know a few U.S./Thai couples who are sharing life across an ocean between visits, but they're part of an extremely small percentage of couples I've seen made it work. Most I know are happy with a loosely-bound coupling, if they even consider anything more than casual hook-ups.

If you're single and far from home - unless you're joined at the hip traveling with someone - you have the opportunity to savor the moment when the thought comes to you that you're a stranger in a strange land, and, for at least that moment, nobody knows you and nobody that does know you has any idea where you are.  That idea terrifies one person I know, but I find it usually makes me feel pleasantly giddy.  Granted, you have to suspend your fears for a bit, but your odds of being harmed while walking down a country road in Isaan are certainly no higher than they are in your own neighborhood back home.

So... what the hell does any of this have to do with the "Foreign Affairs" title or the photo up top today? Since you've stayed with me this far I suppose you deserve an explanation, so, as convoluted as it is, here's the Reader's Digest version:

I became a fan of Tom Waits back in the early 1970s. The man's own singing voice can set off nearby car alarms if I'm playing his recordings at much of a volume, but he's a songwriter (and more importantly a storyteller) who can paint a picture with his lyrics that can move me like few others can. How can one not appreciate a song about leaving someone without saying goodbye that begins "I will leave behind all of my clothes I wore when I was with you", or lines like "the rain sounds like a round of applause" or "how can you close your eyes and say good night, and go to sleep without me"?

I've seen Waits perform, but I've only had the opportunity to get proper pictures of him on stage one time - in November 1976 - and one of those photos is the lead picture today.

While I'm out wandering about in Thailand the tune and lyrics to his song "A Foreign Affair" often come to my mind, for some reason. Maybe it's inspired by that "nobody knows where I am" thing, but often it's while observing other people visiting the same place.

I'm posting the lyrics below, and below them are audio and YouTube links to an Asian guy playing and singing a credible version of the song... certainly as good as what I sing to myself while walking. For those of you willing to try Waits' original version it's at the very end of today's post.

A Foreign Affair

When traveling abroad in the continental style 
It's my belief one must attempt to be discreet 
And subsequently bear in mind your transient position 
Allows you a perspective that's unique 

And though you'll find your itinerary's a blessing and a curse 
Your wanderlust won't let you settle down 
And you'll wonder how you ever fathomed that you'd be content 
To stay within the city limits of a small Midwestern town 

Most vagabonds I knowed don't ever want to find the culprit 
That remains the object of their long relentless quest 
The obsession's in the chasing and not the apprehending 
The pursuit, you see, and never the arrest 

Without fear of contradiction "bon voyage" is always hollered 
In conjunction with a handkerchief from shore 
By a girl who drives a rambler and furthermore 
Is overly concerned that she won't see him anymore 

Planes and trains and boats and buses 
Characteristically evoke a common attitude of blue 
Unless you have a suitcase and a ticket and a passport 
And the cargo that they're carrying is you 

A foreign affair juxtaposed with a stateside 
And domestically approved romantic fancy 
Is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances knowing 
It will only be parlayed into a memory






The Tom Waits version. You've been warned... his style easily qualifies as "an acquired taste".

Working It: A Bar Boy's Collection Of "Walking ATMs"

Silom Soi 4: one of Yod's old fishing holes.

Yod leaned back in his chair, locked his strong arms behind his head and forcefully exhaled a column of cigarette smoke into the early evening air.  A bird sitting amid one of those fine examples of wildly creative Thai wiring above him chirped - perhaps in protest - and took off, dropping a generous dollop of bird shit onto the ground next to the stylish athletic shoe on the left foot he had sticking out in front of him.

"You see?" he smiled "I'm lucky!" I couldn't disagree with him. Yod was lucky; a survivor of a club life, and, as he figured it, possibly set for life.  At least as far into the future as many young people tend to look nowadays.  He knew he wasn't anything close to a spring chicken on the club market; he was, in fact, pushing the boundaries of twinkiedom. He was stunningly handsome now in his early 30s, and one can only imagine what a gorgeous figure he cut at college age.

It didn't bother him in the least that he was nearly finished with the active nightly work of being offed and having to make it seem as though he was attracted to - or interested in the slightest - in the person who had rented his attentions. In fact, it was a great relief. Granted, sometimes there were women who came into the club and offed him for his services ("big!" he said, pointing to his crotch), but he'd very rarely been interested in the men he'd been with. He could "do it", but he knew what he preferred.

Not Yod's complex, but a
good example of the type:
simple,but comfy

Some were younger and somewhat attractive, but most were nearly twice his age; faking enthusiasm or performing acts he didn't care for in the interest of a tip was often a challenge.  If he hadn't needed to be too intoxicated to agree to the tryst he could almost always "rise to the occasion," but sometimes he was merely an object to penetrate, and some customers were rough.

"Act like man, but they not," he said. "Just feel like man if they treat me same dog."  More than a couple of times he'd called the event to a halt, dressed and left, even though it meant no tip. A few times he'd had to struggle to leave, and once he'd had to fight his way out. What he said about those customers doesn't need to be repeated here.

Yod knew he was being used, and he treated his job as just that: a job. As some guys do, he also ran his own "business". Early on he'd been advised to encourage repeat business - a sound practice in any business, come to think of it - and he put great effort into what a friend had done, which was build a clientele who would send him money after they'd gone home.  Regularly.  It was then he promptly left the bars he freelanced in and started to take things easier.

It's a common story those who rent admirers hear early on, if they're listening, be they customers of of either sex.  Anyone who's known someone who has dallied overseas while in military service has probably heard the story in one form or another; the ship leaves Subic Bay in the Philippines and two weeks later the letter arrives: "I'm pregnant and it's yours".

As I said, Yod didn't work the short-term market all that long, preferring to tap the Walking ATM market instead. His rent and basics were paid, but his business was of the longer-term, better income type. As an example I'll cite a common story: "I'll leave my club life and wait for only you if you can help me with Bt ____ a month until you come back to be with me."

Yes, it's dishonest - probably fair to say morally reprehensible - so save your comments. It doesn't excuse his lies, but there are countless examples of farang saying "I want to bring you to my home country to be with me" (or variations on the theme) and then disappearing after the evening, too, and that's pretty crappy behavior, too. You hear that sort of story nightly if you eavesdrop for any length of time in lots of gay and straight bars where a farang is making their moves on a Thai.

Yod had built his business well. He currently had seven guys who regularly sent him money, thinking Yod was their Special Boy and waiting for them to return to visit him, and none knew about the other.  Two from the United Kingdom, two from Germany, one from France, and two from the USA. There were three others who were irregular contributors - Bt3,000 for his actual birthday and the likes - but these were added bonuses, as they rarely visited.

His regular monthly income was in the neighborhood of - get this - 45,000 baht per month, and he had no actual job. That's $1,500USD, or 1,100 Euro.  It might not sound like a lot where you're reading this, but in Thailand it's pretty darned good money. In addition to this regular income, two had believed they were the ones who had built the handsome home he showed pictures of where his mother, father and two brothers lived. They hired help now for the rice and cassava planting and harvesting, and his brothers attended good schools.

He said the easiest ones were the ones who came to visit on a set schedule, because the others could be scheduled around them. Only once over seven years had he needed to beg off or re-arrange a visitor's time in Thailand.  Some of the men he really did feel an affection for, and once he'd felt so sorry for a Dutch man who had fallen hard for him that Yod made up a story to end the relationship to avoid hurting the man too deeply. If he had wanted to settle down with a man, the Dutchman would have been the one. "He very very kind to me and act like Thai way," he said, but that wasn't what Yod wanted.

Yod spent a lot of time at his real home in the agricultural area outside of Bangkok proper, but also had regular stretches in Bangkok and other tourist areas where he managed his bank accounts and kept in contact with his guys from a variety of internet shops. Although he was out of the club scene, he figured he could always make room for one more farang; besides, he enjoyed time with his friends there. His one regular remaining vice was smoking tobacco.

Unlike many Thai club/bar/sex workers he spoke of, he'd dodged the drink/drug/gambling webs and had salted away a small fortune. His family was well taken care of, and he was considering settling down with a woman and making his own family.

After three hours of chatting we called it an evening. Yod wouldn't let me pick up the tab for himself, my translator friend and I. I look forward to following his story.

The "Sick Water Buffalo" Story

Water buffalo in Northwest Thailand

"My family needs a water buffalo," lamented Tum, a reasonably new friend I'd met a few years ago. "The old one was sick for months and died four weeks ago. My parents didn't have the money for a veterinarian and neither did I, and they'll need him for the rice fields soon. Now my family is really in trouble." He looked down at the plate of food  in front of him and was quiet.


[Note: Although Tum speaks in the somewhat halting, broken English some Thai do - as many of us casually learning a second language might well do ourselves - I've taken the liberty of changing his words in the interest of readability and respect.]

If you've read many of the Thai forums, done much research on tourist experiences, rented many "admirers" or had conversations with Thai from several levels of society you've most likely heard a similar story. If one's to be cynical about it it goes on the same list a few others already occupy: "my mother (or another family member) needs an operation", "my brother (or another family member) was in an accident" and "I'm short money for my room rent" topping the list of regulars. 

I was mightily surprised to hear the "Brother in a Motocy Accident" story once and then learn that, sadly, it was true. That story from April 2011 is here, if you'd care to read it.

Of course, there's also the basic "I need money for food" story, and that's usually the easiest to remedy: walk with the person to the nearest food vendor's cart and buy them a meal. At least they will have eaten for the day, even if they continue to panhandle as soon as they're finished and use that money for - ahem - less desirable purchases. 

Getting back to Tum, though. The water buffalo story looms large in the legend of Thai-Farang relationships at some levels; the top one or two, I'd say.  Others may have had different experiences, but it's one of the two I've heard most often while doing research on another project. I almost always manage to show some sympathy and get off the subject as gracefully as possible, but since I had someone to help translate for me I allowed the conversation with Tum to drift into what I was fairly sure was going to be a request for funds... and I was correct. 

Tum, the oldest of four kids, was a club worker with four years behind him, and he hadn't been doing well the past few months. He'd changed places a few times, gone out of his way to stay on the good side of the mamasan when necessary and been a willing companion to those who showed interest in him, but his luck with the number of offs and the tips from them just hadn't been on his side. Now he - and his family off in Isaan - were in a pinch. 

Like a number of other club workers he'd built up a support network of customers over his four years on the market, but he was tiring of the grind and longed to be back home where he wanted to start a family and settle down. He said he didn't lie to the farang he'd been in contact with - he didn't play the "you're the only one and I'm waiting for you" game - so those who had helped him in the past were already tapped out. 

Now he was still short about $150USD. While that may not sound like a lot to some of you, I can put a student through school there for an entire year for that amount. To keep things in perspective, though, it's about what I'd spend for two or three nights in a room on holiday there, too, so everything's relative, I suppose.

Tum excused himself to use the toilet, and I - knowing full well it was a foolhardy idea - turned to my friend and quickly (before he could ask "are you crazy?") asked him to see if Tum was agreeable to a repayment plan that he (my friend) would be OK handling for me, and he reluctantly agreed. Tum said it would probably take him a year to repay the money, but that he would agree to do so. My friend shrugged his shoulders and gave me that "up to you" look, and I looked Tum in the eye, shook his hand and said "OK".

I had to go to an ATM to withdraw the cash, and although some of you are most likely sitting there saying "you moron... that's just what he did with you, the walking ATM" that's not how things turned out.  I was flying on a hunch and not more than a bit of faith that he'd ever be heard from again, but he was. I'm in regular email contact with my friend, and every so often I'd get a "P.S. - Tum stopped by my work and brought me money again this week", and when I next saw my friend he had the entire amount for me.  I didn't ask if he knew how Tum had gotten it - from tips or other Walking ATMs or whatever - but there it was, in the envelope my friend had kept it in.

I had a photo of Tum, and we went back to the club I'd found him in, where several of the guys there said "he finit, go home". My friend talked with a couple of them and found out that he had indeed left the club circuit, gone back into the Great Northeast, and had plans to soon marry the young woman he'd dreamed of returning to.

Now that's a real happy ending.

The Ladies And Clubs Of Walking Street, Pt. 2

Visit my club! ...  No, mine! ... No, MINE!

Yesterday's post was quite a step off the ordinary path for me, but so it goes. As a rule, I very rarely find myself in a club where the admired on stage are of the female persuasion - or close to it - as it's not where I'd usually choose to spend an evening, but an open mind helps if you're willing to see something more than the one-knee shuffle so common in the gay clubs.

Hookah bars are becoming
more common in some areas
of Pattaya

Mind you, I don't have anything against straight people as long as they act gay in public, to cite the old joke. No offense to reader Paul who'd asked the "where can I go to meet some ladies on vacation" question, either, but I felt a bit out of my league as far as specifics go.

I suppose from what I've been told that the system works much the same as far as bar fines (off fees), worker drinks and tips in the club, etc. goes in a females-for-hire club as it does in a males-for-hire club, other than I'm told that sometimes the drinks can be a bit cheaper. Supply and demand at work there, most likely; straight clubs outnumber gay ones by at least 10 to 1, I'd guess off the top of my head.  Probably by more. I'd also put a substantial bet on the likelihood that the amount of "tea money" regularly paid to get those in charge to look the other way is higher... wink-wink, nudge nudge.

It's more than a dime a dance, but company is available.

There are many other places to drink, dance, socialize and meet company for a short or longer period in Pattaya, just as there are in Bangkok.  Beach Road is dotted with open-fronted lady bars, as are many of the side streets up towards Second Road and Third Road - all very lively places.

Lucifer's either listing some or bowing a welcome to his disco on Walking Street

Walking street was mentioned as the example because (A) it's a fairly wide open - and perhaps safer - area (B) it's usually full of other tourists, so you're not alone in an unfamiliar place, and (C) because there are plenty of other places to look through, shop or dine if you tire of The Hunt or need time to get up some courage before locking and loading. Those who enjoy a more concentrated selection of ladies and bars might try something along the lines of Soi 8 off of Beach Road, but watch your wallets.

So, until I'm there again and follow through on a promise to myself to gather more stories from the women than the men, this will have to suffice.

Hope you enjoy the pictures... and your weekend.

The Ladies And Clubs Of Walking Street

There. THAT'S where I wanted this photo from yesterday to be.

For the very new among you, Walking Street is a nightly phenomenon similar to the night market area along the streets of Silom Road and Patpong in Bangkok; assembled and jolted to life at dusk but sleeping by day. Not that there aren't plenty of touts along Walking Street in the daytime trying to pull you into a tailor shop, but the street is open to vehicular traffic, too.  At night it's pedestrians only. The main difference is not having to snake through a thousand other visitors between stalls on the sidewalk on Walking Street.

Probably not the "Living Doll"
Cliff Richard sang of, but
there she stood one night.

While Walking Street is only one of many areas in Pattaya to find a grouping of bars, go-go clubs and discos it's the one more tourists are likely to experience. You won't find as many families with small children along the other slightly darker sois where ladyboys and girls nearer their expiration dates wait for someone to off them, for example.

Walking Street is worth a post of its own, and I'll get to that soon. Today's post is for "Paul", who emailed me to ask where he (as a straight man) might go as an introduction to Pattaya Night Life. Paul said he was recently divorced and going through a renewed stretch of sewing his wild oats and was taking a trip with friends to Pattaya as a self-professed sex tourist. Just to be clear: I don't judge anyone who's fair and respectful of other humans, so while I feel he's likely to miss out on 99.5% of the other things Thailand has to offer, it's entirely up to him.

Not being an aficionado of females as romantic partners on any physical level for decades I was somewhat at a loss, but then it came to me: Walking Street!

Yes, I'm aware that a person could be taken - in more ways than one - in most any bar setting, but I figured this way he could at least get a nice dinner and be measured for a suit before being fleeced, drugged or assaulted (just kidding there - we often have some control over the direction of our own fate if we use a modicum of caution and good sense).

Girls tout for clubs along Pattaya Soi 1, not far from Walking Street

A man looking for a Rented Admirer of the female variety won't want for choice along the main stretch of Walking Street, and some of the side sois, also. There are dozens of clubs with some stunningly beautiful women there, some at the opposite end of the spectrum, and most everything between. Some have more between their legs than others, but that takes us into an area I'd rather cover another day.

It's not all "pay for play" - you can merely enjoy the company of a desirable person for an evening of companionship and drinks in the club, too, so don't get the wrong idea here.

We've covered Rented Admirers a couple of other times, and although the genitalia differs, the idea behind it doesn't - so maybe check those articles out here and here. (I don't judge anyone who's fair and respectful of other humans, just so you know).

"Hallloooo, hansam man!" A common siren song you'll hear as you walk along Walking Street. Well, that and "Hello, my friend! Can I interest you in a suit?"

Some clubs are beginning
to cater to those who wish to
rent a falang

That said, here are a few shots of lady and ladyboy clubs along Walking Street. They're not reference points for specific people - they were taken some years ago, and workers tend to change jobs/clubs/professions as often as money and whim dictate (kind of like many places in the West), but it gives you an idea of what some of the clubs look like.

For those of you wondering, the bar fine or off fee to have someone accompany you off premesis for any amount of time varies, just as it does in a male club. I'm advised the fee is between 300-500 baht for the club (depending on the desirability of the worker on one level or another) and a tip of around 1,000 baht to your admirer.

One last thing: for those newbies who don't read the posts about gay clubs here, or who found this by a search, be advised that renting a "freelance" admirer from the street is often riskier than renting from a club.  A club has a reputation and usually at least some standards and reputation. A freelancer in the shadows of Beach Road may have an agenda... and nothing to lose.

Repeating an image to illustrate a warning that bears repeating

Next: a few more Walking Street club photos

Night Photos, Part 22: A Late Evening Walk In Pattaya

A panoramic shot of the shore along Beach Road in Pattaya, from an angle you don't often see.

Other than the festival night shots at Laem Singh there hasn't been an installment of the Night Photos series since June. Popular consensus is that you've been spared long enough. Well, popular with me, anyway, and since I've been running for close to three years on faith that what I find interesting you'll at least find tolerable here's another batch of long-exposure night shots - all taken around the Beach Road area of Pattaya one evening.

The Oriental Star restaurant glows brightly onto the water of Pattaya Bay

I liked the colors on the water and the blurring of the tiny waves in the top shot. It's a view of Beach Road you don't see photos of very often.

Speaking of Beach Road, there's always a vast assortment of ladies of the night, lady boys, transsexuals  transgender, tran-most-anything along the walkway there, some deeper into the shadows than others.  There were some actually "working" behind me on the beach under cover of darkness. It's one of the few times I've felt compelled to keep a closer eye on my camera and wallet.

It's not even fair to call them "rented admirers" as I've been told it's strictly business along there, for the most part. Nothing against it - work is work - but the World's Oldest Profession can be a trying one, I've learned from those who've made a living at it (on one level or another).

Male, female and in-between prostitutes along Beach Road.

On side streets things can be quieter, but from the beach you need to be alert and sometimes spry to get across Beach Road. Despite traffic signals installed to make it somewhat safer for pedestrians to cross, rumor has it locals can still collect a bounty on tourists. Or so it seems, if you're trying to get across.

Looking North from the curb on Beach Road, Pattaya

And why would you cross the road?  Why, to get to the other side, naturally. Restaurants, beer bars, open air clubs, tailors, opticians, massage storefronts, go go clubs and businesses of all stripes catering to the visitor line beach road and the side streets nearby.

Business lights can give things a warm glow late in the evening

As the weather begins to chill where I am it's easy to daydream of lazy afternoons along the beach and leisurely dinners in small, cozy eateries on the side streets of Thailand.  Not difficult at all to admit I miss it.

Book Report 7: Bangkok Boy - Story Of A Stolen Childhood

Front cover and the spine image
stitched together, for those
who browse used book stores

The man credited with writing the book "Bangkok Boy - The Story of a Stolen Childhood" is - despite all he's been through, including several instances where he by all rights ought to have died - is still alive.

Now somewhere in his mid-40s I've heard he works days as a tour guide and and can often be found on Soi Twilight, one of the main gay bar areas of Bangkok by night where he (I'm told) is a manager at the Scorpion bar. He's said to be married now, with two children.

I say "credited with writing," because in the acknowledgements he thanks one Soshan Itsarachon with making the book happen, and I'm going to stick my neck out and assume that Soshan actually ghost wrote the book for him.  The rumor is it was written by an Englishman, but it's of no real consequence who told the story; the fact that it appeared in print is what counts, I suppose.

In his mid-teens he was molested by a neighbor and given 100 baht, and that was his introduction to the world of prostitution. At the urging of some of his friends at he was swept away at the age of 23 by the lure of relatively fast money in the sex clubs of Bangkok, which is the real start of his story. His path then followed one familiar to most who fall into that quagmire of sex, drugs and violence, and parts of it are heartbreaking, so be warned.  He was lucky to escape from the alcohol and other addictions that overtook him, and his is actually a success story, as odd as that may sound here.

Nevertheless, it's a story anyone who dabbles in the "pay for play" world of rented admirers ought to find enlightening, especially if you're ready to take off the rose-colored glasses and see the truths (for many, anyway) of the World's Oldest Profession - for bar boys and bar girls alike. There have been several other books published that claim to illustrate the world of females in the business, but this is without a doubt one of the best I've found on the life of the bar boys/males many find entertainment with, comfort from, or both.

I bought my copy at Asia Books a handful of years ago and read it over a couple of long, lazy afternoons in Bangkok, but it's still in wide circulation and available from many places besides Thailand.

It's a disturbing but entertaining and reasonably easy read, and one I highly recommend.

Bangkok Boy: The story of a stolen childhood
Maverick Books, 2008   ISBN: 978-905379-51-4
Amazon: $12USD, Kindle $7.50, Asia Books: 525Bt

Trip Report, Pt. 23: A Bar Boy's Retirement Home

An unexpected story waited on the other side of this bridge

Anyone who's been reading this for a while already knows I've collected stories from a lot of bar boys (or gogo boys or Rented Admirers, whichever label you prefer to use).  Since I speak precious little Thai I've been very fortunate to have friends who have acted as translators and go-between help. Not that one really needs to speak Thai to enjoy visiting or traveling through Thailand, but personally I think it's only polite (and respectful) to have some words and phrases memorized - hence book report one, and we'll cover others as we go along.

But getting back to bar boys: there have been posts about visiting their room, how one found a farang partner and happily left the business, being mistreated by abusive bosses, doing double duty while working in club, one about my first interviewee, and one telling of a young man whose life was cut far too short by HIV, to reference just a few I've collected. There are also a few other related stories you can look through if you click on the Gogo Boys label in the right-hand column.

As to the girls or ladies working the same club/gogo/sex trade - also known as the World's Oldest Profession - I still haven't conjured up the interest to try interviews with any of them, but my possibly rash assumption is that the underlying details would be much the same. That's an error I intend to rectify next trip. [Yes, I did say that before the last trip, too. Mea culpa.]

But that's far enough to stray - back to today's topic.

My friend was driving us through Chantaburi on our weekend getaway and had stopped at a spot a ways off of our charted course to get drinks. Naturally, I wandered off, camera in hand.  I'd seen the masts of some fishing boats above the shrubbery a short ways away and wanted to get a better look. Rounding a corner I came to a wooden footbridge over the end of a narrow side canal.

The simple bridge crossed the shallow water to a house on the opposite side, where a small house stood. On the somewhat hobbled together stoop were a few potted plants and some wind chimes, making their music under the eaves of the roof near a tattered Thai flag... and a man, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette. He saw me taking pictures of the boats nearby and waved a greeting to me, smiling.

I said hello to him and went back to watching another man, sitting barefoot in one of the boats and singing to himself as he mended one of his fishing nets.  He didn't hear me, so he didn't look up until the man on the porch called to him and got his attention. He looked over to me, waved, and went back to his work.

Satisfied with the images I'd gotten, I'd turned to go back to the car when I saw my friend coming to collect me so we could be on our way.  He reached me just as the man outside the house called to him, and they spoke briefly in Thai; my friend pointing at me, and them both laughing a little. "I told him you're a visitor from America who has to take pictures of everything," he smiled, as the man called out again, waving us over to him.  We crossed the bridge - me hoping it would hold the both of us and keep me (and my camera) from landing in the water below.

Mending fishing nets 

Approaching the porch I could hear a woman speaking to someone, and soon two small faces peered out from around the edge of the open doorway. They stared for a minute until I said "Good morning" to them, and then quickly disappeared, giggling.  A minute later they peeked out again while my friend spoke briefly to the man. Turning to me, the man spoke to me in Thai. My friend translated. "He wants to know what you're doing out in the countryside," he said, and I replied with a short explanation about enjoying seeing Thai life away from the city. Through my friend I asked how long he'd been fishing. All his life?  Did he come from a fishing family?

His name was Wut, and it turned out that he did - his family had been fishing for several generations, but that he'd done other work for a while in the past.  Out of curiosity I'd asked what else he'd done, and he chuckled and said that during a rather trying financial stretch for the family when he was about 20 he'd followed one of his friends to Bangkok to seek his fortune and help the family.

I ought to have left it at that, but something made me ask my friend to inquire what he'd done in Bangkok.  Wut said something to my friend, who seemed a little surprised. "He said he worked in a bar for a couple of years," I was told, and Wut winked at me and said - in English - "boy bar".  I managed to keep what would have been a surprised look off of my face, but even having a pretty good idea of the Thai mai pen rai view regarding sexuality his frankness did take me by surprise.

I just smiled and said "you were a good son to help your family," and was ready to leave it at that, but my friend sensed a story, and being far more knowledgeable about cultural boundaries of propriety than I asked him a few other things, and they spoke quickly back and forth while I stood there, uneasily, wondering if we weren't prying into an area we should have steered clear of.

Wut, talking with my friend about days in his past

"He said it was a long time ago - a good 25 years ago, and he doesn't care if he talks about it now," said my friend. It was an opportunity I'd never had before, so we took some time and listened to Wut's story. While the World's Oldest Profession is just that, his tale was from a viewpoint based in a very different world I'd never heard. He was only at it for about two years, had worked steadily and with a purpose, saved his money and got out relatively unscathed.

It was one of the less colorful stories I've heard, but again, it was clear it came from a different era entirely. I was really grateful to have heard it, and I'll post Wut's story one of these times.

When we'd finished visiting with Wut we said our goodbyes and went back to the car, got back on the road and headed further South to our destination.

This boat hadn't been anywhere in a while, and may still be sitting in the same spot it was in five months ago.

Trip Report, Pt. 15: A Massage Boy's Story

In the interest of privacy this is not where Nat works. I met him in Pattaya. Center Point is a shop in Bangkok.

Nat was deep in thought as I approached the massage shop. Rather than calling out the familiar welcome to passers-by he was adding up what monies he'd need to finish out his current "fiscal" month. There was enough for his portion of the shared room rent and food, but there wasn't a whole lot of extra left over past that.

As many of us do (or have done in the past) he'd had a few too many the previous night and was paying a minor price for it today. As it stood, it was very late in the evening and his work day would be ending soon. He was thankful for that - and the promise of something to eat before heading back to the room to sleep. He would be very happy to see Bee when he arrived on his motocy to give him a ride home after finishing his shift delivering food.

Still, when he noticed a pair of feet stopped in front of the shop - mine - he looked up and flashed his best smile.  "Massage?" he asked, hopefully. "That's what I'm looking for," I replied "but that's all, really." I'd heard nice things about the quality of the massage at this place and figured we could cover the specifics later. I was on my way back to my room, and had decided that a decent massage would be the best nightcap for the evening.

There were three other guys sitting out front; one staring off down the street, deep in thought, and two others staring intently at the small screens on their cell phones; the light from the displays eerily illuminating their faces as they frowned in concentration. Their boredom looked to be approaching the near-paralysis stage.

Since it's always somewhat of a toss of the dice (a crap shoot, if you will) with massage guys and their level of actual massage training and skill I figured Nat would be the one.  At least he'd acknowledged my existence.

"Do you speak any English?" I asked, hope against hope. "Nit noy (a little bit)," he answered so I asked "how many months have you done massage?" "Not month. Four year," came the reply, and that settled the deal. I figured he wouldn't have lasted that long if he was a complete klutz at it, so I said "OK, you win the lottery".  He looked puzzled, but smiled when he saw me do the "after you" motion toward the door with a sweep of my hand.

I showered and met Nat back at the room where I'd left my things, lay my weary self down where he indicated and started taking some deep breaths to relax. The window was open near my head, and I could hear the sounds from the street below; the rise and fall of motor scooter engines, the clattering of street carts, the talk and laughter of people as they went about their lives.

To be polite, I asked where in Thailand he was from, and that started him talking. More than I wanted, actually; this wasn't work time for me, but hey - a story is a story. I tried to make mental notes while trying to relax; not something I do with much skill, but here's what I remember...

Nat was in his later 20s, and had been born into a farming family who had staked their claim near Suphanburi generations before. The oldest of four children, he was the one who was leaned on for support more than the others. The rainy season flooding in 2011 hadn't helped the family finances any, and now that he was fairly recently back to work he had legitimate money worries. With a sister's medical bills still an ongoing burden to his mother and father back home upcountry he was forlorn that there wasn't anything to send home to help them. 


Beginning massage in Bangkok he'd left the business after a few years to work in a shop selling bags near the two Baiyoke towers, figuring that although the money wasn't as good it was consistent, at least.


Nat had realized early on that he was gay, but hadn't met anyone special until he was away from the countryside and into Bangkok. It was during this stretch of time he was selling bags that he met someone and entered into his first relationship. His boyfriend was a "lady boy" of one stripe or another; I didn't understand what Nat was trying to say more than that. After a single tumultuous, stormy month Nat ended the relationship and went back to Suphanburi to visit the family and lick his wounds.


He was back with his family for a visit when a friend called him to say he'd bought a massage shop in Pattaya with the funding from a farang friend, and would Nat like to come join in the operation to try his hand at massage again, so to speak.  Finances being somewhat dire at the time, Nat agreed. Initially he'd done well, and still had his group of regulars who asked for him, but things had slowed down dramatically in the area overall.


Nat said I was his third customer in five days, and nobody in the shop was making much money. Here it was, close to closing, and I was both the first and last customer for the shop that day.  Knowing that it was really no wonder the guys were rather listless out front.


Maybe Nat figured he'd talked enough, I don't know, but he stopped and was quiet for a few minutes - and I didn't ask him any more questions.  "You OK?" he asked, and I said "Yes, fine". He definitely knew his massage moves, and although I got a full hour of treatment the time seemed to fly by.  Soon I was showered again and back gathering my things; Nat waiting in the hallway already dressed in his street clothes when I came out of the small room.

I tipped him as if he'd done the extras many expect, and he seemed pleased with this gratuity, giving me a polite wai and leading me back downstairs through the now closed shop. The guy at the counter was there to collect the massage fee, but everything else from outside was now inside, and the lights were off, save the one over the reception counter.

"Do you want to have something to eat?" I asked Nat. "No, friend me waiting," he said, pointing to Bee, sitting in front of the shop on his motocy. I patted him on the shoulder firmly, telling him "good massage!" and he smiled.  "Thank you," he said, holding the door open for me. "See me again."  I hope I do.

An Explanation Before Moving On

Two images from a flight over Thailand, stitched into one

In looking back, the last couple of posts about my late friend Pee's rise and fatal fall in the go go business were a lot heavier than I'd like the tone of the blog to be - and I'm sorry about that - but his story had been on my mind for some time now. I felt that since he'd passed it might be a way to relieve some of my own sadness, and if it raised the awareness in just one person and saves a single life I'll gladly take the heat for it.

The post from last Friday spoke of me standing high above the shore and watching the waves pounding the rocks below. The shore and the forest are two of my best "thinking" spots, and since it had just arrived in the mail the previous afternoon you can be sure I had that photo of Pee and I in my pocket that day. The disaster the surfers were flirting with on the rocks was another reminder of Pee and his job, although I wasn't quite ready to share about it here just yet.

Likewise the posts from January 19 (On Having a Dream - Especially Today) and the Thai safe sex info in the next day's Better to Light a Candle, both of which were written just after I'd heard that Pee had passed on.

My thanks to those who left comments or sent emails of condolence. I won't publish them here, but I appreciated them. One asked for a photo of him, but that's not going to happen - and anyone who may have met or spent time with him from his Soi Twilight time knew him by a different name, anyway. Pee wasn't a close friend, but he was a friend; one who definitely didn't deserve the cards he was dealt, as far as I could ever see.

Thanks for listening... now let's move forward.

The Rise And Fall Of A Go Go Boy: Conclusion

Although this story is about a go go BOY, HIV doesn't discriminate between males and females

[This the second of two parts about a friend of mine who was working the World's Oldest Profession in Bangkok.  If you found this via a search Part 1 was yesterday. There are places where those with HIV can get the treatment they need to prolong their lives if they choose to make the effort, but the best course of action is prevention.  If you play, be safe.  If you can educate someone else as well, all the better.]

Tiger By The Tail - Conclusion

Pee had no idea of how much time he was out, but told me later that when he first regained consciousness he saw an almost blinding white brightness through his slightly-spread eyelashes - so bright he wondered if he was still alive or in heaven. He drifted under again briefly and was greeted again by the same bright light, although now it was joined by a pain.

He opened his eyes more and realized the light was sun pouring through the window onto him, seemingly made even brighter by the white sheet his face was pressed against.  As he became more aware he could tell he was face down on the bed, and the pain was radiating from a point below his waist line in the area he usually called his "back door". He could tell something was very wrong, but the effects of whatever he'd been drugged with still had a blanket over his conscious thinking and he turned slowly to sit up, feeling the need to use the bathroom.

Then he saw the blood.  There was blood and another bodily fluid he was no stranger to smeared around on the sheet where he'd been lying, and when he managed to stand up with the help of the nightstand he saw more where he'd been sitting.  There was the sickly sweet smell of blood and the somewhat starch-like smell of semen.

He staggered off to the bathroom, leaned on the vanity counter and looked at himself in the mirror, his mind racing despite the after-effects of the drugs. Turning and looking over his shoulder he saw the mess was spread on his lower back, on his sides, on his buttocks and down his thighs.  Not a lot, but a mess, nevertheless.  He was still woozy so he sat on the toilet and realized for the first time since coming to that he was alone in the room.

He stepped into the shower and washed himself thoroughly, as though he could make it all go away by scrubbing himself well enough.  He examined himself after drying off, and other than some bite marks on his shoulders and some scratching on his sides he had no cuts or other injuries, and the bleeding had stopped.  There were no towels, and he walked out into the main room naked and wet, hands covering his genitals out of nothing other than habit.  Although towels were strewn about the room they were all used and dirty in a manner we don't need to go into here.  He finally pulled the top sheet off of the bed and wrapped it around himself before going over and closing the drapes.

The farang was completely gone.  His small bag, clothes and personal items were all missing.  Pee hadn't noticed when he'd first gotten up and gone into the bathroom, but he'd packed and taken off while Pee was still unconscious.  Pee's clothes and small bag were still in the room, although not where he'd put them the night before. Someone had gone through them, and while his wallet, ID and money were still there his "regular" phone was gone.  The spare was still zipped into the pocket inside the bag, though, and he called Dum, his co-worker from the club.  Although Dum had been sound asleep he hurried to the hotel, met Pee and helped him back to his room, where he cried on Dum's shoulder; partly from the humiliation and shame and partly from the pain that sharply reminded him he'd been violently violated somehow - he just couldn't remember how.

The short version of the "what the hell happened" story is this: the farang had checked in just hours before offing Pee, using a credit card that had yet to be registered as stolen by the rightful owner.  He'd paid the night clerk to look the other way, brought Pee back to his room, and then invited a number of others to join him for a party. The night clerk said there were at least six, and Pee was the party favor.

Pee - for a couple of reasons - couldn't make himself go back to work for a few weeks, but he called Tum back home, and after swearing him to secrecy he told him what had happened.  Tum, naturally, was worried that Pee had been exposed to HIV, but Pee refused to even speak with him about the possibility.  Pee had himself tested for STDs (he'd received a couple as parting gifts at the "party") and he stayed away from work as long as the doctor advised.

Subscribing to the "if it's my time to die, it's my time to die" line of thought Pee returned to work several weeks after he was raped. He had a photo he'd received from the farang over a year before and  had copies of it printed and circulated among friends in other clubs, hoping someone might spot him, but that never happened.  Anyone familiar with how things go in a club area know how lucky the guy was that he wasn't spotted.

Three months to the day of the rape Tum took the bus down to visit Pee, accompany him to get his HIV test and stay with him until his results came back.

Pee tested positive. Later it was determined to be a particularly difficult to treat sub-strain.

Even knowing it was a distinct possibility he'd be positive Pee was stunned numb, while Tum was inconsolable and cried on and off for the rest of that day.  Pee wept some also, naturally, but he'd been steeling himself with the aforementioned fatalistic attitude learned at his father's knee years before, and his tears were more for Nee and his daughter.  Tum also felt that this was an unalterable death sentence, even though I spoke at length with Pee about treatment.  He took medications for a while, but had trouble tolerating them and finally just said "if it my time, it my time".

Despite being intelligent on so many other levels Pee believed this was beyond his control.  He began going to the temple on a daily basis, meditating and praying for hours at a time.  He ate well and still exercised, but he dropped his gym membership and began to decline offs.  "I have enough money," he said one time on the phone "If I die my family will be good.  They have a house, they have the farm, they have the animals and a lot of money in the bank" - and he was probably right.

"Yes, but they won't have you, Pee," I tried to explain one time. "Think of Nee and your daughter."  He couldn't be swayed, and as I was feeling somewhat hypocritical for pushing him (I abhor how people all too often push their dogma on others) I backed off.

Pee's popularity declined with his looks and his health, and after he left his original club the places he worked became less and less desirable.  Eventually he was only getting offers he knew were risky or dangerous to his health and the siren song of home finally won out.  He packed up a few things from his rented room, gave away the rest to friends and called Dum.  "I'm finished.  See you in a few hours."  Dum met him at the bus station.  He told me later that he couldn't keep from crying at Pee's appearance when he climbed slowly down off of the bus.

From the bus station Pee returned to what he used to joke about as his "Farang Palace" - the house that multiple Jacks had built. Nee still wanted to marry him, and so a ceremony was arranged and they began what they both knew was to be a shorter than usual life together.  Pee loved his daughter and happily took over as many of the daily duties as he was able to, just to spend the time with her - while his health continued to decline.

I asked Tum to please promise to send updates on Pee, and I told him if I could I'd make time to go see him when I was there this Spring. Tum promised he would, but since Pee was no longer seeing a doctor, taking any medication or accepting any help whatsoever there usually wasn't much to report, other than he wasn't doing well - which I could guess myself.

Two weeks ago while I was preparing a family party to celebrate several January birthdays my phone chirped to announce the arrival of a text message, and it was from Pee's phone.  Being the eternal optimist I'd hoped it was some good news from him (sometimes he'd text a greeting for my birthday or other holidays), but it wasn't from him - it was from Tum.

Six words: "Pee die today. Email to me."

I stopped what I was doing and sent Tum a short email asking for a little more detail. He must have been right there to receive it because he replied within 15 minutes.

"Pee happy now," he began. "Now he in heaven and resting much. He sleeping three days before, no drink no eat. Nee and me stay him all. He stop breath today, now his spirit go to heaven. Pee want me send you something.  What address you?"  I sent back my mailing address, thanked Tum for letting me know and for being a good friend for Pee and went about my duties setting up the party, although my thoughts returned to Pee's death more than a few times throughout the day.

The next morning when I was doing my usual routine of candles, incense and trying to make peace with the universe I offered up a wish that his passing was peaceful and that his journey continued smoothly.  As usual I added the hope that perhaps someday our paths cross again somehow.

Three days ago an envelope arrived from Thailand, and I saw it was from Tum.  Inside was the photo from years back of Pee and I that my translator friend had taken.  Our arms were still over each other's shoulders, and we were both still smiling. There was a piece of note paper folded in thirds over the photo.  When I opened it up I could see writing too shaky to be Tum's, so I know Pee had written it.  It said:

"Remember happy times.
From friend Nong Pee."

I'll look at that picture and remember him often.

Tiger By The Tail: The Rise & Fall Of A Go Go Boy

Soi Dungthawee - where Pee worked for a number of years

When I first met Pee he was a strikingly handsome young man of 22. He was at the peak of both his desirability and his go go boy years at a club in Bangkok, making what was to him and his family a small fortune each month. He was bright, upbeat and a delight to talk to, even through his English was pretty limited and I'd needed a Thai friend to help with the translation.  Although I'd taken a couple pictures of him myself my friend took one of us together, arms around the other's shoulder. Before I left I'd dropped copies of them off to him at the club.

He had been one of my earlier interviewees, and like some of the others I'd been able to keep in touch with him and get updates every so often. Even if schedules didn't allow time for a lunch or dinner visit I spoke on the phone with him every time I was in Thailand over the years.

In a photo I received of him at 27 he was a mere shadow of his former self; hollow-cheeked and scarred by the skin condition that had ravaged his face and upper torso on and off over the past year. His eyes rested deep in their sockets, surrounded by dark skin highlighted by even darker circles beneath them. His beautiful high cheekbones were still there, but unless I'd looked directly into his eyes I might have walked right past him on the street without recognizing him.

In the picture I'd received two months ago he was worse. He had a colorful towel draped around his shoulders and was sitting on a beautifully finished wooden bench in front of the equally beautiful family home his tips had built - but a world away from the high life of the Big City. Beneath the towel his once gym-toned torso appeared the most gaunt and bony I'd ever seen. He'd made an attempt to smile.

I hadn't seen a photo of him for about nine months, and although my medical knowledge is limited to "playing doctor" every now and then in my youth it looked to me that barring a miracle Pee wouldn't live even to see Songkran, one of his very favorite play times of the year.

"Oh, Pee..." I said quietly to myself as tears welled in my eyes that morning. I figured I now knew why I hadn't heard from him for a while and I sat down and emailed Tum, his best friend who lived nearby. Tum had sent the photo for Pee, but there was only a very short message with the picture.  Tum and I weren't really friends - Tum thought all modern medicine was suspect and was one who discouraged Pee from getting the help he needed early on - but if my emails were about Pee's health he'd usually reply fairly quickly.

He did this time, too, and said that Pee was resigned to letting go and moving on and that he hadn't been well enough to email me himself, other than just the short note with the photo, in which he (as usual) was more concerned about how I was doing.

"It what he want," said Tum, and although I knew that to be true, it seemed a lot sooner than I'd thought it would be. "He so tired, he want sleep."

Tum is gay and has always had a crush on Pee, but Pee had fallen in love with Nee, a girl in his village, and had a daughter by her.  Nevertheless, he and Tum had been best friends as far back as either of them could remember, and had remained so - regardless of following different paths sexually. Tum had always hoped for more than just friendship, but that had never came to pass, other than one evening Pee had followed Tum's lead after they'd both had a couple bottles of beer.  While he found it physically pleasurable, he didn't feel the connection or desire he had for girls, and they only shared that single evening of intimacy.

Tum had stayed in the village while Pee went to seek his fortune, or more accurately the fortune he'd heard was there for the taking in the clubs of Bangkok. Tum had warned him of the dangers of drugs and disease and was probably the nagging reminder that kept Pee safe.  Although Nee had moved into Pee's family home for help caring for their infant daughter Tum became the "doting auntie" and would check in daily to help after Pee had gone off to Bangkok.

Through a friend who already knew the ropes Pee quickly found work in a club on Soi Dungthawee (also known to many as Soi Twilight) where his astoundingly good looks and bright attitude made him a customer favorite, and he rarely had a night without an off - sometimes two, sometimes three, depending on the details involved. He worked six nights a week, keeping only Sunday to himself for laundry, rest and prayers at the temple. Sunday was the only day he didn't go to the gym, also, but he worked hard at keeping himself in tip-top shape.

Pee had arrived in Bangkok armed with as much safe sex information as Tum could drum into his head, and although he says he took some foolish chances (collecting extraordinarily large tips) during his early months in circulation he soon learned of the dangers involved and made the vow to himself not to lose focus of his goal of a long life with Nee and his daughter while helping his family over the years.  Gazing dreamily out the window of the restaurant we were having dinner in before he went to work one evening he said he'd be happiest when some day he could sit outside and see the sunset outside of his own home up North.

Pee was consistently careful with every customer after that first few months - even if it killed a deal or got complaints registered against him with the club - and still was making plenty of money.  He'd have himself tested on a regular basis, even though he very, very rarely would bottom and risk a condom problem.  If the customer's appendage was of an acceptably thin circumference and he felt comfortable trying it he'd sometimes make an exception, but it was rare. His looks, charm and his own equipment bought him a lot of grace.

He learned how to successfully manipulate an unpleasant or risky situation with a pushy or insistent customer, and, more importantly, how to firmly say "no" if he had to.  He didn't ever try drugs and preferred to be in his room watching TV or reading if he wasn't being paid to do otherwise so he rarely went out and got drunk.

While working and with a customer he didn't care for the feeling of being "out of control" so he learned to skillfully nurse a drink. If the customer with him was distracted or off in the bathroom Pee would often pour most of it out or send it away with a waiter.  That worked better in his own club, of course, but he had other tricks he'd shared with me one visit.

The money rolled in faster than he'd ever dared dream.  Pee bought himself a nice cell phone and clothes to keep himself attractive, but other than his gym membership he put almost all of his money away.  Once a month he'd take a break and make the bus ride home to see his family, his girlfriend and his daughter. They'd talked of marriage, but Pee said he wanted to wait until he was done working so he could be "with Nee only".  Thanks to his income construction was started on a new home for the family, and due to his thriftiness Pee had it paid for (and then some) before the job was half done. It was a beautiful, two-story home.

Three years ago Pee had a regular customer come into the club that he'd been off with before; someone he'd liked for several reasons that aren't important here and someone he hadn't seen for about nine months.  The farang said he'd been busy with work and unable to come to Thailand, but now he was making up for lost time.  Pee was happy to accept the overnight off and go back to the man's hotel with him, stopping only for some things at the Family Mart near the hotel.

The man opened a Coke for Pee and didn't seem to mind that Pee wanted to watch one of his favorite Thai shows while he went to shower.  When he came out of the bathroom sporting the white hotel towel wrapped around his waist Pee got up to go shower himself.  He came back out in an identical outfit, downed the last of his Coke and re-joined his off on the bed to watch a little more television, as they'd done in the past before getting down to business.

About 15 minutes after finishing off his Coke Pee rapidly began to feel dizzy, and found himself being dragged unwillingly into unconsciousness in what seemed like mere moments afterwards.  He'd heard about guys being drugged, but he never suspected it could ever happen to him; especially not from this repeat customer who'd always been so gentle and polite. Nevertheless, he knew something was wrong and tried to get up off of the bed to go dress and leave. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of falling, hitting his head on the floor, and his view of the carpeting at an odd angle mere centimeters from his eye before losing consciousness.

[Tomorrow: the conclusion]