Thai Girl (2 page)

‘Come on Emm, it's not that bad being at home.'

‘I hate it. I feel trapped.'

‘Better come to Thailand with me then,' he said triumphantly.

‘Shut up Ben and listen. Why aren't you shit-scared about what you're going to do when you get back?'

‘Well, I'm going to enjoy travelling and think about a career after. One thing at a time.'

His glib answers annoyed her, especially as he was refusing to see that their relationship was at a crossroads.

‘Look Ben,' she said, ‘the problem with me coming to Thailand's not just about careers … it's about us as well.'

‘Why's it about us?'

‘Now we've finished uni, what are we going to do? Travel together or call it a day?'

‘Hadn't really thought about it like that,' he said vaguely.

‘Why not, you wally?' She flicked her lighter and lit a cigarette.

‘Dunno, Emm. All I know's we promised ourselves a trip. You were as keen as me.'

‘But it's more complicated now. You're no help … and I get so much pressure from Mum and Dad not to go.'

‘My folks are okay … they think me travelling's a great idea.'

‘They would! Mummy's blue-eyed boy!' She drew angrily on the cigarette.

‘Oh sod off! Don't start that again,' said Ben.

‘No, I'm just not sure I still want to go with you.'

‘Why ever not?' he said, sounding hurt.

‘Because I'm not sure about you any more … sorry, but I had to say it.'

‘Emm, please don't let me down now,' he begged. ‘Maybe it'll bring us back together.'

‘No, I've got to make a go of things here,' she said. ‘Though if I can't find a decent job … suppose I'll have to come with you to Thailand.'

Sleepless on Khao San Road listening to the sounds of the city, Emma knew that this had been decision-making by default; it was no decision at all. And the dream of Thailand that had finally persuaded her to travel with him was so far totally failing to materialise.

Emma had never liked flying, but she tried to be fatalistic. Once Ben had booked the flights, she was destined to converge at the airport with several hundred others, to present her ticket and passport and be herded onto the plane. She could be fated to die in a ghastly inferno or be seated next to someone who snores. She was to be catapulted across the globe to a world she had never before experienced, her ordered existence ending at Bangkok airport where another very different culture begins.

The long but comfortable Qantas flight passed surprisingly quickly as she and Ben were able to snatch some sleep before landing in Bangkok. The airport was still part of their own familiar world but, tired and bleary from more than twenty hours of travelling, both were subdued and anxious. They queued before a silent immigration officer who stamped visas into their passports; this was not yet the land of smiles. They waited by the carousel for their backpacks, then passed through customs and walked down the long arrivals hall. Confronting a dark sea of Thais, many holding up the names of arriving passengers, Emma longed to be met or to have a comfortable hotel already booked.

Walking out through the glass doors into the roar of the traffic, they were hit by the smell of diesel fumes and drains and by a blanket of hot, humid air. There were taxis parked in lines and Thai faces everywhere, the taxi touts milling about and talking loudly. Emma was feeling overwhelmed and disorientated. But everything happened fast and she soon found herself sitting in the back of a small green and red Nissan taxi, their rucksacks stowed safely in the boot. The driver was smiley and communicative.

‘Okay, you go Khao San Road? First time in Thailand?'

‘Yes,' said Ben, doing the talking.

‘You married already?'

‘No, we're students.'

‘Farang
have money, so why you not married?'

‘What's
farang?'
asked Ben, ducking the question.

‘Farang
means European.
Farang
good for business … so welcome to Thailand.' The cheerful taxi driver, their first Thai, was making a good impression.

The Bangkok traffic was a crazy roller-coaster ride, the taxi sitting gridlocked for ages, then surging forward aggressively before hitting the next blockage.

‘Rot dtit,'
said the taxi driver. ‘Traffic jam every day.' Emma marvelled that it was possible to be a Bangkok taxi driver and stay sane.

Staring out as the urban landscape unfolded, she was struck by the sheer scale of the city, its high-rise tower blocks crowding on all sides, concrete grey as far as the eye could see. Speeding along the overhead expressway, she could look down on flat roofs cluttered with pot plants, washing lines and television aerials, human details in a harsh environment.

Massive hoardings stood next to the road: Mitsubishi Motors, Quality in Motion; Cathay Pacific, the Heart of Asia; Bridgestone, a Grip on the Future; Volkswagen, Panasonic, Canon, Pepsi and Nissan, all familiar names in a globalised world. From the next hoardings they passed the glossy haired Sunsilk girls gazed serenely down on the traffic jams with global eyes, eyes that to Emma looked hardly Asian.

As they rushed towards the city centre, she silently admired the towers of Thai Airways, clad in gleaming blue glass and, to her surprise, lavish showrooms for Porsche and Jaguar cars. In front of her stood the tallest building she had ever seen, the seventy eight storeys of the Bayoke tower, on her right the roofs of a traditional Thai temple a bizarre contrast to the stark commercial phalluses of the city.

This seemed to be a city of extremes, the sleek modern buildings dwarfing older ones which were grimy and unmaintained. Its quirkiness was brought home to her when the taxi driver, passing a Buddhist shrine outside a luxury hotel, took both his hands off the wheel, held them together in prayer and bowed his head down low.

Exciting though it all seemed, Emma was already finding Bangkok more than a little scary. This ugly place in which she would have to survive on a shoe-string budget was alien and threatening. Though cocooned in the taxi and about to start the holiday of a lifetime, her butterflies were rampant; it was like teetering at the top of the high diving board, staring down at the water.

The dull ache in her stomach was even worse when at last she took the plunge, nervously emerging from the taxi onto the pavement in Khao San Road. Her first glance took in a street packed with guest houses, travel agents and cafés. On both sides were shops and stalls, selling everything backpackers might need. She could see colourful tee shirts and ethnic trinkets, food for sale off barrows, and everywhere busy crowds of cool-looking travellers.

Feeling very much the new girl in school, Emma shouldered her pack and apprehensively set off with Ben to find somewhere to stay. In three or four backstreet places they asked for a room but there were no vacancies. She was becoming overwhelmed by the heat, her back aching from hours on the plane and from carrying her heavy rucksack. Tiredness, dehydration, culture shock and the fear of not finding anywhere showed in her face.

‘Look Emm, sit down with the bags and I'll go and look on my own,' said Ben.

‘But what if I don't like it?'

‘Oh stuff that. We can always move on tomorrow.'

She breathed a sigh of relief when Ben came back, having found a room in a dingy guesthouse. Damp and musty and with communal showers and toilets, at least it was well within their budget. ‘What's wrong with cockroaches anyway,' he said as he opened the door.

Feeling thoroughly let down by Thailand, Emma was appalled at what she saw inside, though she dared not complain. Now she somehow had to get through the rest of the day and then face a long evening struggling to stay awake. She did not expect it to be fun, but her first night out with Ben in Bangkok was to be nothing short of a disaster.

2

Never one to opt for an early night even after an exhausting journey, it was Ben who suggested they take a look at Bangkok's famous nightlife. Emma had no better ideas and knew he would not be easily dissuaded, so she protested only weakly when he told the taxi driver to take them to the bar area off Sukhumvit Road.

The tropical night was exotic and steamy, just like the nightlife. Emma would have preferred a walk down one of the quieter
sois,
a side street of bars, travel agents and hotels, but Ben seemed to know where he wanted to go.

‘So what's this evil-looking place then?' she asked him.

‘It's Nana Plaza … like Patpong but not as sleazy. Gotta see it now we're here.'

‘Speak for yourself! Looks a hell-hole to me.'

With Emma trailing behind, Ben led the way past stalls selling food from fried insects and bamboo grubs to spicy Thai curries. In the open-air bars on the ground floor, they could see beer-swilling western men being minded by bar girls and beyond in a three-storeyed building, the air-conditioned go-go bars, their names flaunted in garish neon signs; ‘Caligulas', ‘San Francisco Strip.' ‘Big show now on.'

‘I wouldn't mind somewhere with aircon,' said Ben. ‘And maybe with a show.'

‘Aircon's fine but what sort of show?'

‘No idea Emm, but we'll only find out if we give it a go.'

‘Amazing Thailand, my arse … none of this was in the brochures,' she said bitterly.

She followed Ben up the stairway to the open gallery on the first floor where they crossed to the balustrade and looked down onto the rubbish strewn roofs of the bars below. Rangy cats prowled nearby and stared at them with wary eyes.

‘Come on Emm, let's have a look in the bars then,' said Ben.

‘Do we really have to,' moaned Emma.

Walking down the gallery they passed a group of girls sitting on tin stools around folding tables, unselfconsciously doing each others' hair and make-up and eating rice from styrofoam takeaway boxes. At the first bar, the touts tried to stop them going past, throwing back the curtain across the open doorway for them to see inside.

‘Welkaam, sir … take a look, sir. No cover charge.'

Through the curtain they got their first glimpse of a go-go bar. Lit with flickering purple lights and pulsating with music, it was almost empty of customers. Emma's eye was compelled by the girls in backless thongs, dancing around poles on a raised platform in the middle of the room, some of them flabby and overweight. Detesting the touts who were all over her, she backed away from the door, trying to make her escape.

‘No Ben, I'm not going in there,' she said.

‘Nor me … the girls look like you since you put on all that weight.' Emma bit her lip and pretended not to have heard him.

As they went further along the gallery, they were set upon by touts at each doorway, one a dwarf in a Mexican hat.

‘Come inside sir … lovely girls, lesbian fucking show.'

A glance through the curtains confirmed that the bars were much the same, a place to drink and pick a girl.

Outside the last door, several bar girls were spread across the walkway, lounging around on stools. In tight G-strings and flouncey dresses, they were bizarre, almost witch-like. Suddenly Ben twigged and rushed past, afraid to make eye contact. This was the gay bar; these were the fabled ladyboys he had been reading about.

‘Bugger me if I'd go anywhere near that lot,' he said over his shoulder.

‘But what's the difference, Ben? It's just the same … sex for sale.'

They hastily made for the stairs up to the next floor, the air super-heated from the air conditioners that vented into the stairwell.

‘Hey, this bar looks livelier,' said Ben. ‘Let's have a quick beer.'

‘Suppose I can't stop you!' complained Emma.

And so she found herself reluctantly sitting in the G-String bar on their first night in Bangkok, confronting a varied assortment of bare breasts. At first she sat awkwardly upright, while Ben leaned forward, his elbows on the seat backs in front for a better view. He was living out his ultimate fantasy.

As the girls clung to their poles, sometimes chatting and joking with each other, the music pounded incessantly; “It's my life … it's now or never, and I ain't gonna live forever!” A few danced vigorously, undulating their bodies up and down the pole in a sinuous rhythm, eyeing their reflections in the mirrors that lined the walls, but most looked terminally bored.

The customers were mainly tourists, including a number of couples. Emma guessed that like Ben, they claimed to be there because Bangkok's nightlife just has to be seen. Though as she glanced round she could also see several single men with girls draped over them who were clearly not there for spectator sport only.

When there was a break in the music, the girls sitting with customers got up and changed places with the dancers on stage, revealing to Ben the mystery of the disappearing knickers.

‘Now I get it,' he said. ‘They slip a leg out and shove their pants down the top of the other thigh boot! Cunning eh, Emm?'