Asiatic Moments

by Al Culler

  On The Road

  Things began to go seriously wrong about fifty kilometres from Khon Khaen. I was quite happily slurping away at the local whisky in the front seat of an ancient bus, air-conditioning rather adequately provided by the missing windows and holes in the rusted floor. Pretended ignorance of the language allowed me to fend off various youths who thought it only just that they should share my bottle of Mekong. Up to then my only major problem had been keeping my pecker in check, a parade of wild country gals kept blowing my mind by giving me big smiles. Could’ve been anywhere between fifteen and twenty-one.

  As with most low-end bus services in Thailand, the conductors were openly gay, though I had mixed feelings about the driver. A thickset lout, a dead ringer for one of the country’s more notorious politicians/gangsters. He had an extra large wooden penis hanging off the end of his key-ring, which could’ve either confirmed his sexual leaning or merely been a sign of better days lost. He kept giving the horn a sharp bark, whilst swigging away out of a bottle of the local gut-rot - whisky Lao! He kept giving me murderous glances in the mirror, as if someone drinking whisky at a faster rate than he was cause for a massive loss of face.

  These buses stop wherever people want to get on and off, cross country journeys can be an extended hell if you don’t get in the right frame of mind - that is, drunk out of your head and leering at the local frails. At one stop some old dear, probably eighty if she was a day, gave the driver a verbal bashing. Her bag had gone missing from the bus’s hold, judging by her peasant state probably contained all her personal wealth.

  The driver went berserk, screaming abuse at her at the top of his voice, occasionally giving the youngest bus-boy a salacious grin. He kept up the tirade for a good ten minutes, whilst revving the engine and bouncing around in his seat. He was fast metamorphosing into an irate gorilla. Finally, he lurched the bus into gear and sped off up the road, which just happened to be a series of hairpin bends. He was almost on two wheels most of the time!

  Coming across a meandering agricultural vehicle, he shot past it, deep into a blind bend on the wrong side of the road. Welcome to the world of the criminally insane. Coming the other way, another bloody big bus! He simultaneously stomped on the brakes and swung viciously on the steering wheel, missing the oncoming vehicle by millimetres. Apart from myself, reduced to a gibbering wreck on my knees, none of the passengers seemed in the least bit fazed by the driver’s madness.

  The bus’s jostling caused some baby to start screaming for all it was worth. The driver shouted abuse at the parents at the top of his voice. Even I know that screaming at a wailing baby will only intensify the angst. The baby’s parents tried to remonstrate with the driver, causing the latter to stomp on the brakes and practically leap out of his skin with rage. He told them to shut up or get off the bus. Winning the argument he then trolled along at about 5mph, muttering obscenities and giving me dark looks. The only thing that saved me was an inspector boarding the bus, the driver suddenly all lightness and smiles.

  Khon Khaen’s a large sprawling town but I didn’t hang around long, another cheap bus up to Udon Thani. The touts in Khon Khaen’s bus terminal were all over me, had a fight with one of them who wanted to carry my bag - probably would’ve run off with it if I let it out of my grip. Finally got one to usher me on to the right bus, gave him five baht for his trouble and got a lovely scowl in thanks.

  One of the bus-boys was all over me, probably never seen a farang in the flesh before. Couldn’t have been much more than sixteen, had lips bruised with feminine lust and a lithe young body; just as well that I wasn’t inclined that way as I would probably have been arrested! I waved him away whilst the nearby passengers chortled at the sight.

  A couple of live chickens clacked away under the seat in front of me and an almost naked hobo kept trying to shake my hand. One of the other conductors sat nearby, was arrogant enough to think that the waves from the babes on the roadside were for him rather than me! Some hope, up north easy dosh rules and the sight of a farang defines monetary lust! And the babes will come mightily on the back of it, which confuses no end of farang.

  Everyone seemed out of their heads but at least the driver appeared sober, meandered along for an hour, or so, before Udon came into view. I was on my final bottle of Mekong and feeling all the better for it - and the bag felt as light as air! I would’ve preferred beer but there weren’t any toilets on the bus and the Thai drivers’ sense of humour would have left me stranded in the middle of nowhere if I tried to have a quick piss by the roadside.

  A week earlier, the whole area was flooded out, still large lakes where rice paddies should’ve been, whole livelihoods ruined... probably why there was a general feeling of madness. There were still plenty of wooden huts submerged in the water, just their roofs showing. Poor buggers, as the large-as-cats rats and vile snakes go berserk once their habitat’s disturbed by the floods... one reason to stay in the city!

  Another avalanche of hungry touts in Udon (which, just to confuse things, has at least three bus terminals...) but I ignored them, already having seen a couple of hotels on the way into town. Unfortunately, they were only two storey structures, which meant mosquito infestation... and the bastards come for miles to feast on the Culler skin. A farang delicacy compared to the tough if coarse locals.

  I had an hour before darkness fell, wandered around in a huge circle until I found a likely looking hotel. Only four storeys but next to Robinson’s shopping complex. Converted town-houses by the look of it, but only 250 baht for a bit of air-conditioned luxury. I could’ve fallen for the receptionist but didn’t like the way she eyed the Culler wedge of currency when I paid for the room.

  Weird bars in Udon. The first one I set foot into, all the babes looked like they had reconstructed faces, might’ve been katoeys; getting hard to tell, these days. One gave me the look-over but suddenly dematerialised when she realised how long I’d been in-country. I was suddenly in a bar where all the women had their backs turned away from me! Oops! Must learn to tell better lies!

  The next bar they refused to give me a bottle and the glass of Chang I ordered turned out to be bloody big carafe of warmish draft beer. I waved it away furiously after the gal poured out a glass’s worth. They refused to take it away, thrust a bill under my nose just as I was about to get violent at being ripped off... only 109 baht; not worth the effort! There was even a live band thrown in, though the singer evidently spent more time looking in the mirror than practising his vocal chords! Anyway, I got through three carafes without throwing up!

  In Bangkok, Udon Thani and North Eastern gals are famed for their beauty and sexuality; not to mention rip-off attitudes and general, albeit extremely well hidden, hatred of all things farang. Unfortunately, all the attractive babes seemed to have made a beeline for the Big Mango rather than waiting for me to arrive; I was rapidly getting as pissed off as I was pissed.

  A large quantity of beer on top of the whisky probably wasn’t recommended but it didn’t seem to do much harm, other than having me so far gone that I found myself wandering down a dark alleyway whose only very minor illumination was the odd bit of flashing neon. Which doubtless caught the five baht gold necklace some old dear was kind enough to buy for me, which was worth more than the profit on a year’s work for an upcountry lad! Things began to go a bit rock and roll, as on a small ship in stormy seas...

  I can recall banging my head on the door frame of some neon dive but my next coherent moment was waking up in the hotel room; the gold chain and most of my dosh intact; the poor old groin felt bruised enough to confirm I’d had a jolly good time and I’m sure I’ll get the flashbacks a bit nearer to my senile years.

  Vientiane Vile

  I’d spent more time than I should’ve in Udon back street dives, searching for an elusive innocence and getting palmed off with the same old shit... gals who had done the rounds several times over and some of whom I’d swear were leftover from the time when the Yanks used the town as an airbase for t
he Vietnam war. Want some free advice, don’t bother with Udon, all the decent babes head for Bangkok as soon as they are old enough.

  Being a sucker for that Laotian look (which Thai country gals, much to their annoyance, sport) I decided to head for Laos. Can’t fault my logic, can ya? The Friendship Bridge, financed by the Australians, was only half an hour up the road in Nong Khai, another town famed in Bangkok for its abundance of beautiful babes who’d do anything for farang money.

  Another trawl through the Thai countryside on one of the local buses (21 baht), then 20 baht for a tuk-tuk to the border post on the Thai side of the bridge. The bus was stopped once by the plod who checked identity cards, not to mention my passport... they were happy as a couple of Indians had no ID and were promptly marched off!

  Thai gals need to have a bit of paper confirming their identity (100 baht from one of the shops near to the bridge, bring a couple of photos). The Thai police were their usual laconic selves (until you overstay!), soon ushered through. A mini-bus takes you over the bridge (ten baht), the driver evidently Thai as he scooted the vehicle across a two inch high concrete divider on to the wrong side of the road, just to prove he could take a slower moving vehicle. Small cock syndrome, if you ask me!

  Cost 1300 baht for a visa-on-arrival on the Laotian side (one photo needed) and a ten baht exit fee (Thais pay 40 baht but no visa necessary). The communists were pretty grim-faced, although I got half a smile out of the immigration gal when I threw a couple of Laotian words at her. Not sure what they meant!

  Extra large tuk-tuks the taxis of choice in Laos, and just to confuse things they drive on the wrong side of the road - blame the French. The usual touts at the exit but I walked past them to where the locals congregated. That got the price for the 15 kilometre trek into Vientiane down to 150 baht and a bit more bargaining got me a 100 baht ride, if I didn’t mind sharing with a couple of locals. No problem, there’s a certain safety in numbers.

  The Laotian countryside didn’t look that different to Thailand, albeit with more stylish wooden houses and bigger buffaloes. The schoolgirls all wore black sarongs down to their ankles, but it just emphasized the sexiness of their bodies. Not many cars, loads of bicycles and a certain freshness to the air.

  Vientiane basically follows the sexy curves of the Mekong river. The main drag along the river is quaintly underdeveloped, calling out for a myriad of bars and neon dives. The closest it came to that were half a dozen frails giving me the wave from an upstairs, barred window! Laotian gals won’t ever smile first, totally unlike their Thai cousins, but once you give them a view of the old nashers, the smile they throw back actually reaches their eyes; again, totally unlike their Thai counterparts!

  Found a hotel just off the main drag, 300 baht for a room... no need to change currency, either the baht or dollar happily accepted. In fact, if you get the local currency returned in change there is no easy way of changing it back and the locals talk about the kip as if it has already been reissued (10 kip, actually being 10,000 kip - fifty baht!) which can get totally confusing.

  The hotel was more Fawty Towers than Holiday Inn, looked like it had been built by the French in the fifties and not received a new coat of paint since then. The sheets looked like they were original fare, too. Massive potential as the room was a nice size and shape, with a high ceiling, but no-one seemed to give a shit. Enough money rolled in to keep things turning over, so why bother?

  The tuk-tuk driver who’d driven me in was still loitering about, insisted on taking me to the main market. Waste of time, all the goods seemed to be imported from Thailand, twice the cost of those in Bangkok. The communist system was deeply rooted; much better to sell one item at an exorbitant price than hundreds at a small profit; no concept of unlimited supply.

  I waved the still loitering tuk-tuk driver away, but the bugger followed me as I walked the mile or so back to the hotel. He only gave up when he was nearly flattened by the one heavy-duty truck in Vientiane. Laugh? I almost walked into a stall selling Laotian silk sarongs. 50-200 baht a throw, depending on the quality and design. Makes much more sense to wander around town than heading for the tourist orientated market.

  A couple of temples and presidential palace serve as reference points, though it’s dead easy to get lost - all the streets looked pretty much the same to me. Just keep in mind where the sun is in relation to the river, head for the latter when the going gets tough. The locals need to express their angst by planting bombs where tourists hang out meant there weren’t very many around; the usual Bangkok obese sex tourist totally absent.

  I had a pleasant meal by the riverside, any potentially dangerous bacteria effectively killed by sinking five large bottles of Beer Lao. Actually, it’s very good stuff, with a better taste than Chang, though not particularly strong. It’s also very cheap - even in the roadside restaurant it only cost the equivalent of 30 baht a bottle.

  It was whilst finishing off the fifth bottle that I spotted an amazing, absolutely mind blowing Laotian gal. There were loads of attractive girls coming and going but this one was something special, knock Kate Moss, even in her prime, for six. She was meandering around the riverbank, trying to sell balloons and I nearly levitated on the back of the lust!

  No chance of any action as she was too young and would probably run a mile when approached by a leering foreigner. Still, kept the mind ticking over with wild fantasies. The hotel had a club in its basement so as soon as the neon flickered on I headed down there, totally wired for action. In was a repeat of the Udon experience, complete waste of time.

  Fast exit, another wander around town, following my nose. Came upon a small bar in the back alleys. Had one fit babe but she was replete with total arrogance and I rather enjoyed refusing to buy her a drink. Ended up drinking too much beer and moping around, seen more action in Watford on a wet Wednesday night.

  Made it back to the hotel in one piece. Despite the occasional bombing, I couldn’t find any nuance of violence in the city - too much effort needed! Bit disconcerted to find the lobby full of Laotian men dressed in white flares and shirts - pimps waiting for their babes to finish work in the bar. We ignored each other.

  I just seemed to nod off when there was a hammering on the door. I hadn’t actually seen any police in the town, figured they were waiting for the foreigners to get to sleep before popping out of the ground and demanding a bribe. Opened the door to find a couple of ladies of the night; their clothing left little to the imagination so I didn’t slam the door in their faces. In Bangkok they would’ve been pushing their luck but Vientiane was a communist paradise where prostitution was frowned on.

  They took five minute turns atop the Culler body, rattling and rolling the ancient bed whilst giggling. An hour or so of this I finally exploded into the younger of the two. She pretended mutual ecstasy but it certainly didn’t reach her eyes. I gave them a ten dollar bill to split; they demanded a hundred dollars - each. They finally accepted twenty dollars each, left with a surly air of righteous indignation.

  Seemed like minutes later but must’ve been hours, yet more hammering on the door and female voices. Decided to give the whores a piece of my mind, naked and sporting a morning erection I opened the door... only to find that it was the maids in communist mode - demanding my fast exit so they could do the room. Took one look at the engorged Culler member and dematerialized before my eyes. At least they left me alone for the rest of the day.

  When I finally departed the hotel, got some funny looks from the receptionist but I didn’t give a damn, I’d had enough of life outside of Bangkok, back to Thailand and an express bus down to the Big Mango - love it or hate it, the bloody place can’t be beaten!

  The Joy of Being...

  Things going downhill rapidly in Bangkok, despairing of seeing any really beautiful gals in the Cowboy/Nana/Patpong nexus.

  I came close in one Nana bar but couldn’t make up my mind if the minor scowl she sported was a result of too much extracurricular activity or merely a sign of innocence
and a reaction against her dysfunctional employment status. She wore high heels so it wasn’t likely that she was a newly arrived country gal even if her body was sublimely slender... I find it mildly disturbing that the latest generation of Thai gals seem to sport large breasts; unleashed from their bras they tend to flop around; the girls unsure if they should hide them or flaunt them. Bring on the breast reduction surgeons, please... or ban milk from the diet of children.

  The usual upstairs Nana haunts were wholly devoid of the real knock-out babes. The few women who I suggested free sex was about right went into a rant about cheap farangs; many of them sported quite crazed visages - probably a lot of angst at not getting ahead of the game and keeping their pimps in whisky, gold, bikes, cars, houses, etc. When they get tired of dancing for next to nothing, they head for the beer bars - both downstairs and in Soi Nana, where the craziness runs even deeper.

  The same trip in Patpong and Cowboy. I even went so far as to venture into the upstairs Patpong bars which major in shows (the ones where the touts follow you upstairs are rip-off joints, fast reversal and exit, please)... the babes all looked rather ill and were somewhat affronted when I refused their offers of lap-dancing. Only when I spilt a bottle of beer over one of them did they get the message. Don’t sit near the balloons, not unless you want to take a high velocity dart in the eye!

  Contrast such dismal showings with an upcountry run or even just sitting in one of the major Bangkok shopping centres and watching the show; either way absolutely overwhelmed with young women seeping sex outta their skins and finely honed as if by divine intervention. Embarrassing, as I was usually thrown into a full blown erection - one of the better uses of the local newspaper!

  Any gal with any sense is going to get into the farang rotation game, keep half a dozen, or so, guys on the go and hope they don’t turn up for a holiday at the same time... even if they only bung her ten or twenty thousand baht a month - cheap Charlie’s! - multiply it by the number of fools she has on line, it soon adds up to serious dosh.