Asiatic Moments

by Al Culler

  Alas, this is fairly typical behaviour of the new era of bar girls, not a matter of merely cheating on the quiet but of doing it right in the face of the farang so that he becomes a total laughing stock! There’s a hell of a lot of hatred hidden under the surface and it comes out at the slightest provocation!

  Survival

  The end of the New Year season has left a lot of heart break, confusion, desperation and madness. The girls who came back with and without their husbands had to decide whether to return to the West or run off with their Thai boyfriends. Husbands had to decide whether to overlook the nights, even weeks, that the babe disappeared, not to mention all the money that went West (incredibly, some of these guys armed their women with credit cards). Many guys chose to ignore the reality that stared them in the face, carry on as if nothing had happened.

  Except that some of the mamasans are so well connected, they can offer new treats to the gals - flight and board paid, a month or two in Singapore or Tokyo or wherever, they can come back with a 100,000 baht or more. Easy money, dump the husband (if he’s run out of readies), live with the Thai boyfriend, make maximum sanuk.

  The pimps don’t give up easily, the girl might’ve returned to the West, but hammer away with the collect calls - send more money, send more money, the usual promises between ever increasing demands; gotta move on from the motorcycle to a taxi or even a Merc, just to keep up the face.

  Maximum weirdness... one example. The katoey who wasn’t really a katoey (but would go short-time with guys anyway, just for the dosh) was into the mamasan who’d done it all (as in brothel, Patpong, overseas bars, Phuket, etc) and wouldn’t pay him much. She let him live off one of the girls in her Phuket bar, as long as he serviced the mamasan every day (and she knows how to take a guy to heaven), who then sets up the pimp’s girl with an English guy.

  The Brit pays the girl who pays the katoey who pays the mamasan who sells the girl ever harder to the Brit - new girl (only five years out, including a stint in a Chinese brothel), tells him the girl is far gone on him, just right for marriage, get her out of the bar quick. The Brit falls for it, ends up marrying the girl. All his dosh gone in a few months.

  After the usual hassle with the British embassy, takes her home. The mamasan has connections in the UK, gets her work in the day for an escort agency (for a large cut, plus all the money she’s sending back to the boyfriend/katoey); hubbie knows nowt.

  Six months down the line she has had enough, comes back for Xmas and New Year, got the last of hubbie’s dosh plus a Visa Card. Goes wild on the boyfriend after so much time. The mamasan sets her up for a month in Singapore.

  Hubbie turns up in Phuket out of his mind with worry and desperation. Thinks the katoey is just a friend, reassured by the mamasan that the wife’s been a good girl but needs more money for her parents.

  Finally, someone tips the girl off about the mamasan and the katoey. Major trauma, flee back to Bangkok with the husband, katoey in pursuit. Go home early, katoey still singing a song of love. The girl was so messed up she even let the husband make love to her again (albeit with a condom). A Thai style happy ending - for the moment!

  This has nothing to do with Thai girls and farang, we’re talking bar girls and obese farang here; huge pressure on the girls to justify their existence by bringing in the dosh; everyone from ancient mamasans, pimps through to families, getting their claws into the girl; any sign of happiness sending them into a feeding frenzy. Tragic but true.

  The truly stunning thing is how quickly the genuine new girls fall for all this crap and fail to see that the only real way out is to find a man they can love and forget all about the dosh, as that will take care of itself. You’d think the parents would be glad for their offspring rather than reacting like they’d been cheated.

  Things are getting worse. New generation of babes, brought up on TV, only too aware of how the rich live and desperate to live like that too. Ten years ago, maybe 20 percent of the bar girls were genuinely looking for a farang husband as in the love of their life; fast exit, live happily ever after.

  These days I would put it at less than one percent, and those girls under 21 who are new aren’t just looking for the love of their life, they want someone youngish who they can walk down the street with, not feeling embarrassed or ashamed.

  The rest are there for the money; the older you are the more they demand. Some of the old dears who have gotten rich several times over take young farang boyfriends just for the kicks! It’s all twisted and f..ked up.

  Those there for the money won’t admit it, they sing a tune of love and devotion that dissipates as soon as the large wedges dry up; move on to pastures new.

  What to do? Just enjoy the wild, cheap sex and move on to another girl before she has a chance to break your heart into a million pieces; unless you get lucky, get beyond the bar scene and find a genuine babe.

  Mad in Manila

  I rather miss the old Philippine Airlines flight between Bangkok and Manila. It was always late, sometimes didn’t run at all and I often felt sorry for the poor saps doing long hauls treks on the elderly Jumbos. No, it was the hostesses I liked - whenever I asked for a beer, they gave me two or three cans and a look that said I’d be better off drunk on arrival in Manila than trying to take on the city in a state of stone cold sobriety. None of that indulgence on the modern Thai fleet...

  Manila airport as congested and crazed as normal. The Filipino guy in front of me was muttering obscenities after a stint in well organized Saudi, the customs officer gave him a nasty look, making him wait whilst myself and a few others were waved through without the slightest interrogation. Previously, some self-righteous Indian guy had been given a harsh dressing down at immigration and marched off whilst they took one look at my British passport, stamped it and ushered me through with a smile! Considering the range of mixed blood flowing through the average Filipino it’s hard to imagine that they are racialists; must be that I look totally harmless (or gormless!).

  Lots of dubious looking men hanging about the arrivals area. I headed for the escalator, up to the departure hall, hoping to pick up a taxi into town. Both exits had large no-entry signs above them; the guards refused to let me through, pointing vaguely at the other side of the hall. Only problem was that the security check was in the way. A couple of Filipino guys barged their way through, muttering about the exit; I followed! Used to be a long line of taxis waiting outside, hardly any at four in the afternoon. I fixed on one rolling in, waved it down and hustled a fare of 200 peso to Makati. It’s about 120 peso on the meter but the drivers threaten to dump you in the middle of nowhere if you quote a too low fare! Or turn violent. Avoid any drivers under forty, especially those with moustaches and huge stomachs (laugh if you will but here speaks the voice of experience!). And make sure the passenger’s inner door handle’s still there!

  An unlikely elevated road was under construction, causing the driver to duck and dive down various side streets until I lost all sense of where I was. He kept muttering about the traffic and only 200 peso, the scowl as natural an embellishment as the smiles, however false, in Thailand. Loads of beautiful girls wandering around the streets in contrast to the general ugliness of the men! A heavy fog of pollutants hung over the city, every single structure deeply embedded with carbon detritus, whether cardboard shacks or fifty storey condominiums. I sucked on a couple of Vitamin C tablets to keep my throat free from infection.

  Makati Avenue, then the Burgos strip, finally honed in upon. Did the rounds of various apartments and hotels, settled for a small room right in the heart of the bar strip - 600 peso a night. Hotel rates down despite the devaluation of the peso - you have to bargain hard! Cool marble floor, slightly faded paint, rattly air-conditioner that only just shut out the noise of the construction of some monstrous skyscraper that shot up towards the clouds. The last time I’d been there the site just a huge hole in the ground.

  Night fell as if someone had turned off a switch, had some food in Magamboo. Expensiv
e but then the place was packed out with frails. The ugliest and fattest took great delight in patting me on the head, saying I looked just like Kojak! Odd sense of humour, she was shocked when I refused to buy her a drink! I always have hassle from ugly women. The girls pranced around the stage in the centre of a serpentine bar, wearing slips that rode up to their waist! Only two of them were close to knockout and even they faded a bit when viewed up close. The waitresses scowled when I refused to stump up for some drinks for the babes; a habit that was to be repeated everywhere. Happy hour, the beers cheap at forty peso.

  Knowing that the same trip was to be found in most of the Burgos bars (most owned by the same guys!), headed down for a small bar strip on EDSA, opposite the Heritage Hotel. Firehouse the first stop, a bar that had its roots deep in the old, defunct (and dangerous, these days) Ermita strip, closed down by the mad mayor of Manila after the Yanks were kicked out of the country - much to everyone’s dismay and disgust.

  I’d always found the girls in Firehouse too hardcore for my liking, babes who’d mostly done the American army gig but hadn’t got ahead of the game. About eight other bars in the complex, so plenty of choice. In Firehouse, there were about twenty girls to every customer, but that was only because there were so few guys there at eight in the evening. A couple of tubby vultures tried it on, especially when I admitted to only having arrived in Manila a few hours previously. All over me, rather disconsolate when I refused to buy them a drink. There was one babe dancing who got the juices flowing. Small, slender but huge breasts; short hair accentuated her cheekbones. Could’ve got the mamasan to bring her over to me but didn’t like the way she scowled in my direction. Bloody women! For a short time Firehouse relocated to Roxas, then EDSA, but it hadn’t changed its character from the old Ermita days. I didn’t stay long.

  The next bar was called My Fair Lady or something equally daft. The place was packed out with babes, at least a dozen stunners! The old pecker was in serious trouble! Saw one girl sat along the bar, marvellous mouth under the neon, all pumped up with lust. Kept staring at her, then the bar, then back to her. A few minutes later she gave me a smile that would’ve lit up an Ermita back alley.

  Up close, though, her face was ruined. Well, not ruined, just that the life, even at eighteen, had hacked out her facial structure and ruined her skin tone. Bought her a drink, anyway. Couldn’t figure out if she turned over her American boyfriend or vice-versa (some thirty year old midget with a massive beer-gut according to her!). She was slender rather than skinny, all good muscle tone, small conical breasts splayed outwards, flat stomach and legs to die for. The cynical lines contorting her smile warned me off. She was pretty pissed off when I refused to pay the bar-fine! By the way, the ladies drink was 175 peso.

  Australia Club was next, another leftover from the Ermita days. Never much liked the bar back then and wasn’t too surprised when the drink I ordered didn’t turn up. After five minutes I complained to the mamasan which got me incredibly hard looks from the girls dancing nearby, not to mention the waitresses. Like I was in the wrong. The hippy get-up, a necessary disguise to avoid getting mugged in Manila, obviously wasn’t going down well! Saw one girl, not a dancer, who was absolutely stunning but she refused to catch my eye! Typical!

  The next bar was packed out with babes, maybe half a dozen of whom would get the juices going. Sat at the bar which was backed by a large stage. The mamasan was on me before I’d had a chance to take a sip of beer. Who did I want? Told her there were too many to choose from! Give me time. What did I like? Slender but strong body, youngish... She pointed out a very dark skinned babe who would’ve been wonderful... save that she was three, four months pregnant. The mamasan wasn’t amused when I pointed this out! Asked me who I wanted again. Said I didn’t know, she decided to chose for me...

  A few minutes later some young frail was thrust into my arms. She said she was nineteen, had the body to back it up, but her face was layered in the conviction that I was some kind of walking ATM. After I refused to buy her a drink she disappeared rapidly; the girls on the stage giving me nasty scowls. No-one else wanted to know!

  The next bar, assaulted by some hardcore babe, all taut muscle but ruined face layered in too much make-up - Filipinas generally don’t have sexy mouths or jaws and should be banned from wearing lipstick. I ignored her, asked the girl sitting to my left how old she was, saying she looked about 15. She reckoned 20. The hardcore babe shrieked some words at her and thrust her in my direction. Paradise found, she actually seemed shy as well as looking like an Oriental Kate Moss, circa 16!

  Naturally, I bought her a drink. She tried to get me to stump up for her friends as well; no chance. Turned out she wasn’t a virgin even though she looked like one; didn’t take her long to tell me she never went out with customers. Her drink finished the waitresses nagged me for a repeat order but I refused, but at least the babe didn’t walk off. Find someone like that, you have to come every night for a few weeks to convince her you’re serious. She reckoned all she wanted was a good man to look after her; I kinda believed her! In another life, I could’ve given the dice a throw.

  At this point, the effect of too many San Miguels finally caught up with me, its rather bland taste making me gulp down the beer like it was water. Somehow the clock had got around to one o’clock in the morning! Fresh air needed - no chance of that in polluted Manila. Don’t bother with the taxis immediately outside the complex, they want even sillier money than the taxis at the airport. I staggered on to EDSA, was nearly run down by three competing taxis. The first one agreed to use the meter, the guy looked like a heroin addict on his last legs but I was too out of it to care! Weird, a lot of the men look like they will cut your throat on a whim but they don’t actually give any trouble. Still, I always find every taxi ride a touch edgy!

  I knew I should’ve hit the hotel, collapsed into a comatose sleep, but one last bar beckoned. High Heels on the outer edge of the Burgos strip. The taxi driver had trouble working out the change from a 100 peso note but he got there eventually. HH’s doorman wanted to know the story on the change and offered to get me a taxi home even before I stepped into the joint. Strange chap!

  Was mobbed by hungry looking babes before I even managed to clamber on to a tall stool. All over me! Nice enough but not exactly stunning in either facial lines or body tone. A certain desperation cut the air. The stage was at the far end of the room, half a dozen babes in minimal slips dancing to the beat. I claimed shyness as an excuse for not buying any ladies drinks. Took the girls about 20 minutes to dissipate, all the time I was eyeing some slender young girl on the stage.

  The dancers changed over and she was soon all over me! The gentlest amount of eye contact all that was needed! She reckoned she was nineteen, had a Filipino boyfriend who’d dumped her for someone else and had only been working in the bar for a week. I didn’t believe her - the way she danced and the way she was all over me indicated otherwise. Fantastical body, if you like girls who look about sixteen, her face was a few millimetres off beautiful, as if someone had put it together slightly wrongly.

  Her drink cost 250 peso, a straight shot of Tequila which she downed in one gulp. No way she’d only been working for a week. She reckoned she’d had twenty the night before! The boss bunged me a free shot of something which she refused to drink. Had to gulp down the rest of my beer to put out the fire in my throat and stomach. Could barely see! Managed to stop myself throwing up! Bastard!

  The girl wanted to know where I was staying, my room number - don’t even think about giving out the real hotel name unless you don’t mind someone hammering on your door at four o’clock in the morning! This babe was overwhelmed with enthusiasm, quite happy to cheat the boss out of the bar fine (2000 peso, 2500 peso in most of the other Burgos bars - eight or ten ladies drinks in polite circles) by meeting up after work. There’s also no need to pay out again, she just calls in sick if you want her to stay with you for a few days, weeks, months, years...

  Had the feeling she wa
s already making plans for the wedding! Time to go home! The doorman looked disappointed when I exited without a babe and was crestfallen when I reckoned I could walk the few hundred yards back to the hotel. He went to grab my arm but I managed to shuffle past him and stagger off into the night despite having problems with my legs and eyes. Just one more bar, I thought...

  Maximum Manila

  Burgos Street bars are an easy touch, just turn up at the far end of Makati Avenue, hustle a cheap hotel room or apartment and enjoy... well, sort of. There are maybe twenty bars, most long and narrow with just a couple of the larger joints. Most are owned by the same guys, prices similar - for beer and ladies drinks. The bars have silly names like Dimples, Bottoms... sometimes I’m not quite sure which one I’m in! But that’s nothing new.

  I was in one of these dives, being buzzed every couple of minutes by one or other waitress - initial smiles going to ever deeper scowls as it became evident I wasn’t going to blow 250 peso on a ladies drink; the 99 peso a beer was bad enough as I was drinking it like water - half a dozen babes hanging on to my every word. Or sort of.

  One of the girls whispered, if I couldn’t afford to buy all of them a drink, just one would be okay - the tone vaguely insulting, I demurred. Nice enough women but not exactly mind blowing, if you know what I mean.

  I was figuring it was time to move on when the dancers changed. A Sophia Loren clone, circa about eighteen, was about a yard away from me. Mind boggling! My interest was so obvious that she shoved her top up and gave me a splendid view of two fine breasts... which I would’ve much preferred to have received back in my hotel room! The drink had f..ked my mind enough to mistake her beautiful almond eyes as containing a touch of innocence but I soon got a grip of myself.

  Weird times, the bunch of gals who’d been pestering me were encouraging me in my butterfly attentions; the place so generally deserted of guys that even if I spent some money on her rather than them it was much better than spending no money at all! The key word here’s customer, which neatly sums up the way all the girls see the guys coming into the bar.