Pattaya trip report, Dec. 2019

[Marsilius]

I flew out on from Heathrow Airport on Saturday/Sunday with Finnair. Our flight was more than an hour late taking off but, with - so the stewardess told me - more than 90 of us intending to transfer to a Bangkok flight at Helsinki, the connection was held for us. It did, though, mean that we eventually arrived at Bangkok airport an hour and a half late. Kudos to the www.thelimopattaya.com driver who had waited regardless of the delay.

After an uneventful drive, I arrived at my Jomtien Hotel at 6.30 pm, so, after showering, unpacking, etc. was ready to launch myself on Pattaya by 8 pm. I decided that, first off all, I'd check to see whether the reported decline even further in Sunnee Plaza was accurate. It was. In the old Krazy Dragon soi only a single beer bar was operating and had no customers: the over-the-road replacement for Good Boys - a misnomer of morality if ever there was one - that had operated briefly last Christmas under a name that I forget (numerals were involved) but which I had certainly and repeatedly enjoyed was in darkness. In the more easterly of the two sois, Eros was completely shut up and looking very sorry for itself. The soi’s beer bars were still operating with, for the early hour, a reasonable number of customers.

The first go-go of the three surviving Sunnee Plaza go-go bars I explored was Winner Boys. That had about 10 boys either on the stage or behind it and about the same number of customers. The boys were flirty and apparently friendly (apparently because a friend later offed one who then declined to exhibit the slightest bit of friendliness back in the room). All in all, a pleasant vibe and a good destination for anyone liking the more feminine type of boy.

Around the corner, the first of the two adjacent bars – is it called Power Boys? I can never remember – had four boys and two customers. Unfortunately the two customers were already engaged with the best looking boys, leaving one sort-of-reasonable-looking one on stage along with another who was growing distinctly female breasts. Not for me, so I quickly moved on to next door.

Nice Boys was the busiest bar yet. About ten boys were on stage – at least a couple being ones I recognised from last year. I forgot to count the customers this time (too many distractions being waved at me from the stage) but would guess at maybe 15. As usual, there were several instances of interaction in progress, with one completely naked boy reclining horizontally and face-up across the lap of the customer on the seat next to me and in the process of being vigorously manipulated (he must be popular – it took him over 25 minutes to produce the desired outcum which, in a spirit of wanting to offer you guys an accurate report, I needed to verify).

After this initial exploration of Sunnee, it was back to the Jomtien beer bars. I chose a seat at the Sun Bar and the greeters/hosts were as flirty as usual. Sadly for them, I became engrossed in conversation with a new Taiwanese acquaintance who was telling me how the current Hong Kong situation is perceived there (answer: with terror). Maybe tonight, I will converse instead with some of the boys and report back on the no-doubt-precarious health or regretable demise of Cambodian elephants or even Cambodian mamas.

[Marsilius]

On my first full day in Pattaya (Monday), I spent a few hours in the afternoon as usual on Dongtan Beach. I sat in Rit's area and was surprised to be able to get my preferred seats. There were fewer customers than I'd usually have anticipated at this time of year, so that the single boy Rit seems to employ these days (only a decade ago it was six!) easily coped. I left early for a nap in my room so as to be fresh for the evening's adventures - if, that is, there were to be any...

For my second evening on the town I'd decided to take a look at Boyztown. That's not usually a preferred destination of mine as I find it a bit clinical compared to the hands-on experiences on offer in Sunnee. Nevertheless, in the interests of scientific research and to fulfil my new role as your Pattaya correspondent, I was determined to give it a go.

The first surprise was in getting to Boyztown from Jomtien. The baht buses - or at least the two I've used so far - now take a different route after reaching the bottom of Theppasit Road. Instead of taking the comparatively-recently-introduced dog-leg route to the left at that point, the buses now turn right and briefly head up Third Road before striking out left into a series of narrow sois (presumably skirting Sunnee PLaza itself) and eventually emerging near the VC Hotel. The route then continues as you'd expect.

I'd kept a note of a previous post here from Dimsumbear in which he'd said that the Boyztown shows involving nudity were to be found at Dreamboys and X-Boys, so they were on my list. At Dreamboys, there were about ten boys on the stage. When I arrived with a friend at about 8.50 am, we were the only customers but in the next 30 minutes or so we were joined by perhaps another half dozen. The boys were generally of the muscular type and most were pretty handsome. That's the type I prefer - but my companion does not and, as he was keen for an off, I said I'd take him where that would be more likely. Thus we ended up at Cupidol which was, indeed, more his type of place.

Cupidol had changed a great deal since the last time I was there (maybe three years ago?) - and for the better. Like Dream Boys it is well-appointed, comfortable and well-lit. Thankfully, no-one was smoking there (Dreamboys had allowed the Chinese guy sitting next to us to light up). There were about ten boys on the stage, of a wider physical range than in Dreamboys but generally of the younger, twinky sort that my friend prefers. Indeed, after a while he negotiated with a mamasan to pay the off fee in advance so that a slight and rather Chinese-looking boy would be waiting for him after we'd sampled the 10 pm show at X-Boys.

When we entered X-Boys we were, I think, the only customers, though by 10 pm three or four more others had arrived. Proceedings began dead on time with a big cock show featuring seven or eight boys. Two or three of them certainly merited their inclusion - while the others were never less than very decently equipped. After all the striding around the stage, the announcer said the boys would circulate through the audience for our personal inspection - so I pleasingly discovered that "hands on" entertainment lives on in Boyztown too. I beckoned one of them to my side where he quite happily sat for a moment or two in exchange for a small tip. A variety of showtime elements followed, including a surprisingly well-lit shower show and, eventually, a fucking show, after which its executants wandered through the audience (still sparse, so it didn't take long) in the search for gratuities. I was just thinking we ought to get back to Cupidol to collect the first boy when, to my surprise, my new friend from the big cock show arrived and plonked himself down next to me.

He was a handsome 22 year old, it transpired, and, although communication was difficult because (a) it was noisy and (b) he spoke little English, I eventually decided to take him off. At that point I discovered that my companion had also offed an X-Boys boy and so, after collecting the Cupidol boy en route, the five of us headed back to Jomtien where we enjoyed one of those towers of Chang beer for half an hour or so in Sun Bar while all trying to get to know each other a little better. Of course, the culmination of that educative process inevitably takes place somewhat later - and, while I cannot report yet how my friend got on with his twinky duo, I can tell you that I was more than pleased with my own new acquaintance. He completely lived up to expectations (the mamasan had said that he'd do everything apart from being fucked) and, indeed, after showering with me it was he who took the initiative in offering to demonstrate his skills. He certainly was skillful, too, and also hard throughout. Afterwards we spent almost an hour communicating through internet translation software and, before he left at about 2.45 am, I'd arranged to meet him again.

Altogether, then, my impression of Boyztown has gone up markedly and meanwhile I've also now chalked up my first - and really very enjoyable - sexual encounter of the holiday.

[gerefan2]

The baht bus detour is because of road works further along which you would not have seen!

[pong]

And did you succeed already in finding a decent enough place to eat? No chinese ladies/girls among the competition for the best hunks?
Well, one sees again, Pattaya delivers, in whatever way the guest wants it. Live or app or.....

[Marsilius]

No "fine dining Pattaya style" to report as yet, but I will try to fit Cafe des Amis, Casa Pascal and a few others in when I can. No Chinese patrons seen anywhere at all, yet, either. Perhaps they - and a few more farang - will fly in once Christmas gets closer.

To continue my report...

Tuesday was spent at Dongtan Beach which, for the first time, showed a few signs of old-style activity. A few blue-jacketed masseurs were now offering their services and the number of ice cream sellers and DVD hawkers had also slightly increased. Falang numbers are still, though, comparatively low.

Tuesday night proved to be less adventurous than Monday. I had exchanged Skype messages with Monday night’s boy from X-Boys and had agreed to take him off as soon as the bar opened at 8 pm, so as to maximise our time together.

Getting to a bar that early in the evening is something that I can’t recall doing in a long time and it was a fascinating experience. As I entered X-Boys at 8.01 pm there were, unsurprisingly, no customers at all, yet a conga line of about 15 or so boys in undies was parading in a circle around the stage to the sound of Abba’s Dancing Queen. Is the routine a sort of team-bonding exercise, I wonder, designed to get them in the mood before the customers arrive? Having asked to take out the boy, I was pleasantly surprised not to be expected to waste money on having to buy a drink while waiting for him to get dressed. In fact, the various mamasans and waiters couldn’t have been nicer. While I waited, the boys’ parade stopped and a fascinating scene took place. From the back of the bar, the voice of, I assume, the boss, began taking a roll-call just like would be done at school, calling out in turn each boy’s number and then the appropriate name. After each one, someone on stage would call back “Kap!” After the roll-call (no-one seemed to have bunked off that night) the boss gave a little pep-talk, also addressing some remarks to “doorman”. Everyone listened very attentively (X-Boys seems a well-run ship). At that point, my young man emerged in street clothes and we left. As a result, I’m unable to confirm anyone’s longstanding fantasies about compulsory – and no doubt invasive - employees’ medical inspection before commencement of the evening’s work. Still, we can go on dreaming.

Having already agreed to meet two falang friends for dinner, I brought my boy along too. Although communication was still a difficulty (he has minimal English, just as my friends and I have minimal Thai) he gamely tried some unfamiliar food and, indeed, opted for wine before later reverting to beer. I hope and think that he enjoyed the experience – but, in such a situation, who really knows what the boys are thinking?

By 10 pm we were ready to go back to my hotel where, interspersed with occasional horrified glances at a rather violent Italian movie, dubbed into Thai, about demonic possession and exorcism, we whiled away the time until well after 2 am when he had to leave (he has a second job as a cleaner at night). Once again, he showed real skill as a customer-pleaser, consistently taking the initiative in finding out what I wanted to do and then acting on it with a convincingly-maintained show of pleasure and enthusiasm. The X-Boys work ethic and training programme yet again turns up trumps. I have to say that he has given this particular holiday the best start of any that I’ve enjoyed for many years.

[neddy3]

Good on you, Marsilius.

Your trip reports are nicely written and informative.

Keep on enjoying yourself, and telling us about it.

[Brad the Impala]

Thanks indeed Marsilius. Very enjoyable trip reports, with a nice sense of perspective, and wit.

[poshglasgow]

Great reports, Marsilius, I've enjoyed reading them.

Keep "it" up !!

[Manforallseasons]

No "fine dining Pattaya style" to report as yet, but I will try to fit Cafe des Amis, Casa Pascal and a few others in when I can. No Chinese patrons seen anywhere at all, yet, either. Perhaps they - and a few more farang - will fly in once Christmas gets closer.

To continue my report...

Having already agreed to meet two brought my boy along too. Although communication was still a difficulty (he has minimal English, just as my friends and I have minimal Thai) he gamely tried some unfamiliar food and, indeed, opted for wine before later reverting to beer. I hope and think that he enjoyed the experience – but, in such a situation, who really knows what the boys are thinking?

Taking the boy was in very poor taste as he can offer nothing to the farang dinner group, actually it was a disservice to your 2 farang dinner companions.

[Marsilius]

I can assure you that they were entirely delighted by an injection of eye candy to the guest list.

[sglad]

I can assure you that they were entirely delighted by an injection of eye candy to the guest list.

You must forgive MFAS, Marsilius. Pattaya's self-appointed Miss Emily Post gets her Depends in a twist whenever she perceives a breach of etiquette.

Great trip report so far; nice to read a genuine one for a change - makes me want to visit Pattaya again. Hope the rest of your holiday is just as good or better!

[Marsilius]

Wednesday 18 December: Had I been new to Thailand, instead of someone who’s visited multiple times every year since 1993, I might have fallen in “holiday love” with the X-Boys boy.

Everyone has, I’m sure, gone through the same thing in their first few years as a tourist – thinking that this is the one and fantasising about selling up at home and moving out to the Land of Smiles to bask forever in its eternal literal and metaphorical sunshine with him.

Thankfully, for most of us, the scales fall from our eyes after a few years, to the extent that, in my case at least, Thailand’s become one of the places in which I’d least like to live permanently. But boy! (and that’s the operative word) it’s sure still a great place for a holiday.

Anyway, while I am certainly not in love with X-Boys boy – who is, by the way, already at the age of 22, the father of a six-year-old - he’s certainly a great find. Meanwhile, I have exchanged more Skype messages with him (his English replies are so good that he must be having help, I think, from his two room-mates) and we will probably meet up with him again later in the week.

So, what did Wednesday hold? The beach proved a little more active once again, so that Rit’s sole attendant was kept a little more busy than usual. Many of you will, I think, appreciate him. He has only been employed, so Rit told me, for three weeks and is yet another minimal-English-speaker – or perhaps merely feigns lack of linguistic ability so as to fend off lecherous approaches from the customers… Nonetheless, tomorrow’s plan is to at least discover his name.

I did, though, discover the name of one of the ice cream sellers. Indeed, I could hardly avoid doing so as he targeted me with his beady there’s-a-farang-on-his-own-who-looks-like-he-wants-to-lick-my-cornetto eyes. I was, it goes without saying, a more than willing victim. Surprisingly tactile, he was eager to know for how long I was in Pattaya, whether I was on my own and where I stayed. Meanwhile, he vouchsafed that he was slumming it in the ice cream business, having for some time been a Dongtan Beach masseur. He looked flattered and did not demur when I said that the best masseurs (even if not, in reality, I thought to myself, the most technically proficient!) were the most handsome ones. He was no doubt waiting for me to complain about the pain in my back from my room's uneven mattress – but, playing a long game, I merely made a strategic investment by buying him an ice cream (he makes 5B from every sale). I may try the “bad back” gambit tomorrow and, if I do, I don’t think he’ll be suggesting a trip to the Bangkok Christian Hospital.

In the evening, I carried out a further reconnaissance of Sunnee Plaza. At about 9.30 pm Winner Boys had about ten customers and an equal number of boys in the bar. It seems, though, to be so badly managed that there were times that, although several of the boys were sitting around doing nothing, none of them were on the stage. Not a good image to present to patrons!

I gave Power Boys a miss this time (one pair of mammary glands per week is enough for me) and went straight to Nice Boys. There were about seven or eight boys on stage at any one time and about the same number scattered around the periphery, mainly engaged in entertaining the customers with advanced anatomy lessons. There’s certainly no excuse to fail GCSE Biology after a visit here! As always – and certainly, tonight, unlike the Winner Boys - the Nice Boys young men gave the impression of making a real effort to promote themselves to the customers and the atmosphere was very friendly and jolly.

Having stayed awake until after 2 am on the previous two nights, I found that sleep was catching up with me and so I returned home alone to Jomtien Complex where, as usual, most of the bars – especially those at the western end of the soi – were doing very good business. Not, however, on this occasion from me.

[Daveuk]

Very much enjoyed your reports Marsilius which brought back memories of my November trip to Pattaya, when I stayed in the Jomtien Complex but circulated in Sunee and BT. I remember my first baht bus journey Jomtien - Pattaya during which I became confused as to where it was going but then realising it was passing the entrance to Sunee. I quickly pressed the buzzer, got off and was rather pleased to find myself more conveniently where I was heading for - Winner Boys, where I acquired a rather delightful off to transport back to Jomtien after a couple of hours in Sunee remembering times gone by. As to the Dongtan Gay beach my experience echoed yours - no boys, but a relaxed atmosphere without the pollution of busier areas.

[aot871]

I just wondered which hotel you are staying in, in jomtiem complex

[Marsilius]

I am staying at East Suites. One of my falang friends is at Zing and the other at the Agate (which is, by the way, very nicely appointed in its public areas). All, as I expect you know, are quite accommodating to any newly-made friends and their proximity to each other is a real plus for us.

[Marsilius]

Thursday 19 December:

As usual, the late morning/early afternoon was spent on the beach. Attentive readers will recall that today’s objective was to discover the name of Rit’s new waiter (in fact, nowadays Rit’s only waiter). Hardly an onerous task, you might suppose, when all one has to do is ask. Actually, however, even getting the young man’s attention proved tricky when he was serving the other customers who, for some reason, seem this year to be predominantly sun worshippers who prefer to sit at the front, while I like to preserve my milky-white complexion by lingering in the shade at the back. When he wasn’t victualing those in the front stalls, he was concealed behind the tree that marks Rit’s work-station, busily washing glasses and plates and preparing the customers’ orders. Anyway, when I eventually got his attention, I asked his name. It is, to say the least, in this context a somewhat unfortunate one. Whereas you’d happily summon any other waiter with a brisk “Oh, Lek!”, “Oh, Yah!”, “Oh, Pan!” or whatever, you’d probably want to think twice before calling out across half a dozen rows of seated customers to this particular guy. His name, it turns out, is Fuk.

As I mentioned earlier, in the context of some whimsical thoughts about go-go boys’ medical examinations, lots of us do like to enjoy our little fantasies about a Thai gay scene that’s so different to others elsewhere. In this case, I chose to imagine young Fuk starring in one of those Island Caprice Studios epics, during which he had been so taken with one of the director’s curtly monosyllabic instructions to the energetic performers that he decided to adopt it as his Thai nickname.

Before leaving – though no doubt only temporarily – the subject of this delightful new addition to the Dongtan Beach workforce, I may add than when I settled up with Rit I asked him whether Fuk was a relative. No, was the smiling and no doubt tongue-in-cheek reply – the Rit family members are all handsome whereas Fuk is… well… To which all I can say is that Rit should have gone to Specsavers.

After a post-beach nap, my two friends and I ate at the New India Restaurant on the road heading for Jomtien Beach. I had lamb tikha masala with pilau rice and a keema nan. Sadly the owner’s very cute son wasn’t on waiter duty last night – if he had been, I might have ordered more! - but the food was much to the taste of my companions even if it was a little too spicy for me (tip: avoid ordering poppadoms if you like them plain and unspiced, for they never, ever, come that way).

We’d decided on another trip to Sunnee Plaza. Our first port of call was Winner Boys where there were about six boys on stage. Other boys were sitting with falang at various points around the edge of the room. Memo to Winner Boys management: you need to turn down the air conditioning because the boys are finding it so cold that they have to place cushions tightly over their laps while their customer-companions try vigorously to warm up their extremities for them. The best-looking boy of the night, we all thought, was one we hadn’t seen before: presumably just back from a period at the wat, he was completely shaven-headed and we all agreed that that made him look very sexy. Strangely enough, even though I know that it is the major site of bodily heat loss, the customer sitting next to him never got around to trying to rub some warmth into that exposed bald head…

We walked past Power Boys but, as we did so, a sneaky glance through the open door revealed more boys than the four encountered last time. We made a mental note to check the place out again at an early opportunity.

Nice Boys had seven or eight boys on stage in various degrees of undress/arousal (and, dare I suggest it with so few customers still in evidence, desperation). A similar number were engaged - or may even, for all I know, have set actual wedding dates - with customers. Thankfully, the Nice Boys management seem to be better judges of the optimum temperature for their bar because none of the boys there seemed to need to cover their laps with cushions. Kindly patrons, still, however, took no chances with the health of their young charges and continued to apply vigorous muscle-warming rubs on a regular basis.

Finally, it was back to the Sun Bar with a beer tower and some Johnny Walker Black Label (is it the real thing?). While one of my friends had clearly indulged far too much in alcohol to appreciate the fine range of ethic Thai, Khmer and Lao produce on offer, the other found his interest piqued and his libido excited during the 100 meters trip back to Zing, for he met a charming Thai/Nigerian young man in the short alley that’s the shortest route. He later reported with delight that the route was the only thing that could be described as "the shortest" that night.

I, sadly, returned alone to my room to dream vividly of those compulsory medical inspections at X-Boys and of how utterly appropriate and stimulating it was that Rit’s comment about young Fuk was made tongue in cheek.

[a447]

Great read, Marsilius.

Maybe fuk is Vietnamese. Phuoc (a very common name) is often pronounced as "fuk."

[frequent]

Great read, Marsilius.

Maybe fuk is Vietnamese. Phuoc (a very common name) is often pronounced as "fuk.""Wun Phuoc Vietnamese Restaurant"?

[Ivory]

Thursday 19 December:

one we hadn’t seen before: presumably just back from a period at the wat, he was completely shaven-headed

Same way they come from the period of being inmate...

[Oliver2]

An enjoyable report and it confirms that I'm not the only falang who finds guys who were recently monks irresistible. So thanks for that too.

[Marsilius]

Ivory: "Same way they come from the period of being inmate..."

Good point - but let's be generous and give him the benefit of the doubt!

[aussie_]

Rit's concession waiters name is Fluk not Fuk, is related to Rit, str8 and been working there for many months.

[Marsilius]

Rit himself told me that (a) the boy is not related to him or his family, and (b) he has worked there for three weeks. Perhaps Rit is not only shortsighted but forgetful?

The boy himself certainly pronounced his name to me as Fuk and, in any case, my little joke about calling out his name doesn't work otherwise - so I will stand by it.

As to him being straight, I rely on your expertise.

[goji]

Rits do have a very cute waiter, as I have frequently noticed from the middle of the adjacent concession.

[poshglasgow]

Another excellent report, Marsilius.

Is it true that Fuk's younger brother is called Samoak?

Keep the reports coming: you write with humour and insight. "The Moving Finger writes; and, having "(W)Rit", moves on..." (Omar Khayyam)

[Marsilius]

Friday 20 December:

As something a little out of the ordinary, two of us travelled from Jomtien to breakfast at Casa Pascal in South Pattaya. The baht bus took the traditional route this time, so presumably the detour-causing roadworks aren’t in place overnight. Some who recall Casa Pascal before the financial crash of 2008 may always be a little regretful that Pascal and Kim Schneider decided then that, in order to survive the crisis, they needed to go downmarket a bit. As well as abandoning the lavish gourmet-set-menu-with-unlimited-wines option, they introduced a pared-down breakfast service which forsook the pristine white linen tablecloths and tableware in favour of more utilitarian napery (initially even – gasp, horror!– plastic table covers: my dear, you might as well introduce plastic knives and forks next). Undoubtedly, however, the new breakfast service has been a roaring commercial success – and deservedly so. The place was maybe 75% full at 10 am. At very modest cost we enjoyed as much food and drink as we wanted – including eggs and bacon from the outside barbecue, Asian food, soft drinks, tea and coffee and my absolute favourite bread – Bürli, light as air on the inside but crunchily crusty on the outside, which originates from Switzerland where, I seem to recall, Pascal grew up. All in all, a deliciously satisfying start to the day.

Walking back towards the Pattaya Thai / Second Road junction to catch a bus back to Jomtien, we decided on a whim to enjoy (maybe that’s not the right word – “experience” might be better!) a feet, head and shoulders massage at one of those Second Road establishments.

For anyone who has never experienced the treatment, the first thing to clarify is that a “proper” Second Road foot massage like this bears absolutely no relationship whatsoever to the Dongtan Beach variety where the blue-jacketed masseurs, desperate for a big tip, will give you a foot massage that rather generously defines the human foot as ascending all the way up to your crotch (and frequently, on more stimulating occasions, a little beyond). No, at Second Road – or, to be more precise, in the open-plan, brightly-lit places, for I imagine that Dongtanese methods might well be available in the darkened interiors of the places a little down the road, seemingly staffed by moonlighting go-go boys from nearby Boyztown – you’ll get something that’s at least got the appearance of professionalism, even if it is far more painful. The crucial things to beware of are short sharp sticks which the masseurs delight in sticking with real force into the soles of your feet, into the skin between your toes and, worst of all, into the tips of each toe in turn. If you’ve ever doubted that bastinado might be one of the worst forms of punishment ever devised, a quick visit to Second Road – or Spanish Inquisition HQ as we must now call it – will convince you otherwise. It cost us 250 baht each there, with 100 baht tip to each masseur. In my experience, it is the women masseurs who delight in causing customers the most pain – payback for centuries of male chauvinist oppression, I guess, but isn’t it just a little unfair to focus it all on me?

After that particular chamber of horrors (actually and truthfully, it was quite fun – do I have an unexplored S&M side?) it was off to the beach. If you have been following my reports and others’ responses to them with attention, you will know that yesterday’s “oh, Fuk!” revelations caused a minor stir in one Antipodean quarter, so today I will focus on a matter that ought to be far less controversial – Mrs Rit. For long-time occupants of Rit’s chairs, Mrs R. has always been a somewhat mysterious figure, the inspiration, I must admit, of yet another of those Pattaya fantasies to which loyal readers will know me to be all too prone… Sitting (she rarely stood) Buddha-like near the top of the beach, she was a brooding presence with a vaguely threatening air – a sort of James Bond villainess (Rosa Kleb on steroids?) out to dominate the world - or, at least, the area around the toilet block. She certainly succeeded in the case of her husband, an utterly charming chap who seemed to live in perpetual fear of breaking a beer glass or of going home at the end of the day with an account book that didn’t quite add up.

But today, for the first time in more than 25 years, I saw a new Mrs Rit – not quite yet, perhaps, Jomtien’s version of Mother Teresa, but someone far less likely to kick you in the leg with a deadly stiletto-tipped boot. A work in progress perhaps, Mrs Rit Mk II actually takes drinks to the customers, collects dirty glasses and generally (if only at peak times) helps out. In a nutshell, she moves! Fantasy and affectionate mockery aside, it was interesting to see that she actually seemed to be enjoying herself, sashaying around between the chairs in a pretty floral dress and even venturing a few more words than usual in English. Fuk, meanwhile, now that he has retired from his work with Island Caprice [whoops, there I go again! These fantasies have got to stop…], was his usual delightful self.

My intended plan to suck the ice cream boy’s lolly remains, meanwhile, a work in progress. Two steps forward were taken – but perhaps one back – so that while I feel that I am definitely heading somewhere, the end destination remains frustratingly unclear. We can only hope that it won’t be the monkey house! [Please don't worry - I've confirmed that he is definitely over age.]

After dinner at La Bocca, Jomtien (where they post an attractive and economical set menu that’s only revealed to be unavailable in the evening once you’ve entered and sat down) and after waiting out a brief but torrential rainstorm, my two friends and I headed yet again for Boyztown. We wanted to visit a few as yet unpatronised go-go bars (our preferred art-form), but walking through the streets revealed just how much the Boyztown scene is now a mere shadow of its former self. In the end, we sampled Toy Boys and A-Bomb. Both are old-established venues. Toy Boys was certainly up and running during my first visit in 1993 (managed then and for a long time afterwards by a guy named John from [I think] Singapore). A-Bomb opened at some point in the mid-1990s and I had been there on the original opening night (the place had, I seem to recall, a military themed interior at that point). Toy Boys now has fewer muscular boys than it used to, but we all agreed that whoever does the recruiting there does an excellent job. One of my friends took off a pretty boy from Cambodia who said it was only his second day on the job (may Mother Teresa forgive him!) My remaining companion and I then struck out for A-Bomb. The extensive refurbishments under way during my last visit have now been completed and make an attractive space. The boys were attractive, muscular types but the fact that they now wear jeans – and often pretty badly fitting and unattractive ones at that – renders them, I think, [I]less rather than more sexy. The most interesting part of the visit was a lengthy conversation with the very helpful and interesting manager, reminiscing about the changes to the Pattaya scene in the last couple of decades. As a longtime insider, he actually thinks that the whole gay commercial scene in Pattaya will have disappeared within the next ten years.

After a baht bus back to Jomtien, we’d hoped to see our friend with his Cambodian boy at the Sun Bar. He’d promised to have a beer tower waiting for us there but had evidently been diverted from that intention by the prospect of some private lessons in the Khmer tongue and was now nowhere to be found. I took the alley route back to East Suites. This time, however, there was no Thai/Nigerian friend (or, indeed, one of any other sort) to be found there and soon the distinctive sounds of lightly-screeching kathoeys ("Come, handsome man! Eeeee...") were wafting me off into another sound night’s sleep.

[arsenal]

Lovely. When your holiday comes to it's inevitable end there will be a collective sigh of disappointed SGN readers. I find your writing very much in the Alan Whicker style and is best served with the confirmation e-mail regarding ones next trip.

[Chuai-Duai]

Quote:
"a slight and rather Chinese-looking boy" (Cupidol).

My guess would be No11. Quite different looking from the other boys with a heart shaped face. Slightly surprising upper body development on a slender body.

He was just being offed when I visited two or three days ago.

Or perhaps No9?

[aot871]

I have stayed at east suites before , the only trouble was i had a bad leg ,,and found it too much going up stairs with them not having a lift,,

[Marsilius]

Yes, the lack of stairs is certainly a potential issue for some.

[lonelywombat]

Yes, the lack of stairs is certainly a potential issue for some.


I have stayed at east suites before , the only trouble was i had a bad leg ,,and found it too much going up stairs with them not having a lift,,

Not sure what Marsilius means?
My late sixties friend complained there were no handrails for support, which made climbing up or down , difficult.
He will not stay there again solely for that reason.
Location is fine for younger or fitter men

[gerefan2]

QUOTE=aot871;263290]I have stayed at east suites before , the only trouble was i had a bad leg ,,and found it too much going up stairs with them not having a lift,,

Not sure what Marsilius means?
[/QUOTE].

Delete “stairs”....Insert “lift”.?!

[Marsilius]

Quite correct. An unfortunate lapse of consentration. East Suites has stairs but no lift.

[poshglasgow]

Marsilius,

Another excellent report: a joy to read. I suspect you are a professional writer. If not, you should be!!

I look forward to the next report.

[BOY69]

Due to your recommendation changed the booking to East Suites instead of Zing,Is it correct that guests of East sui. Have free access to Zing swimming pool ?

[Old git]

Every field report these days seems to be peppered with comments about where bars used to be, but no more.

Is the bar model broken? Is it that other countries have liberated to the extent that the LoS is no longer such a must-go for gay men? Is it the exchange rate?

- Probably a bit of all three..

The thing that deters me from Thai gay bars more than anything else is the volume and the choice of music that they mostly default to.

- Surely there must be a market for a bar with class and elegance, as well as boys..

[Marsilius]

Just to answer a few of the points raised before I move on - quite literally in fact as a few days in Bangkok are in the offing....

1. Yes, poshglasgow, I am a professional writer - less so now that I am officially retired, but I still keep my hand in with things like reviewing CD and DVD releases on one of the world's largest specialist music criticism websites

2. Yes, BOY69, there are vouchers in every East Suites room or else they are available at the reception desk. Take them with you to the Zing pool, hand them to the attendant and you get free access

3. I think, Old git, that to the extent that it used to be able to find a concentrated location where up to 20 bars were available, the old model has broken. It's a model that, I think, depends on older farang who think, probably correctly, that the quickest and easiest way to hook up with someone younger of the type that they like is in a bar where such young men congregate (if only for access to older farang with cash to spare). The model ought to have been permanently sustainable, given that as the oldest of the older guys die off they would be being replaced by those entering their own older years. That, though, seems not to have happened to the anticipated extent. Until any research is in (good PhD material, I'd have thought) we can only put forward some possible theories. (1) From the point of view of the bars, it might be steep rent increases from greedy and shortsighted landlords, excessive demands for tea money from the police (both those were cited to me by the manager of Toy Boys) or difficulty in recruiting new boys. (2) From the point of view of the boys, there might have been some moral/societal change in the way in which bar work is viewed, there might simply be more economic choices available in more conventional work back in their home provinces - or they may still be marketing themselves to farang but simply in new ways that are more convenient to them and fit in with their generally more technological outlook on life, i.e. via the Internet. (3) From the point of view of the customers, fewer bars means that it is less likely that a night out will produce the boy of their dreams so they may well contribute to the accelerating downward spiral by not going to them - or even coming to Thailand - at all; meanwhile, others may also find the comparatively thriving non-gogo Jomtien complex market a bit vanilla (there's certainly nothing to see that's X-rated) and difficult to navigate compared to the simple and familiar shop-counter cash-and-carry ethos of the tradional go-go set up. (4) Finally, we seem to have entered an age of neo-puritanism where such obvious and overt displays of pleasure must be frowned upon. St Greta of Thunberg would certainly dispprove of all those frivously undertaken air miles, so, quite regardless of the element of paid-for sex, the whole exercise must ab initio be immoral - you should stay home at home and join a lesbian* reed-basket-weaving commune instead. [* A fully-qualified lesbian, as is well known, never travels any further than to the nearest boozer where, after six pints and a packet of Woodbines, she's ready to knock six bells out of her ex-girlfriend's newest squeeze.]

I'm sure there are other reasons why there are fewer bars - those are just some ideas that popped randomly into my head. You may have others of even greaster insight and validity - but please don't use them to derail this thread, as I have plenty more to report on my trip yet.

[Marsilius]

Saturday 21 December

Mrs Rit Mk II is, as I suggested yesterday, probably something of a prototype and a work in progress. After her generally successful trial outing yesterday, however, it seems that she has been judged in need of some slight modification, so today she remained prone with her motor idling at the top of the beach. Neither, I may add, did her husband display much in the way of commercial enterprise – or even of simple energy. He too lounged inertly on a deckchair, not even stirring himself when some item of equipment fell over next to him. Instead he called over one of his waiters to pick it up. Maybe the Rit family are, in fact, androids – which might explain why it’s thought that none of their employees (pace our friend aussie_) are related to them.

You’ll have noticed there that I wrote one of his waiters. The news of the day is that Fuk has been joined by another young man. This one’s a little stockier, perhaps slightly younger than Fuk and has a rather pretty face. His speech is soft but quite fast, so I’m probably wrong in this (and if I am, no doubt aussie_ will correct me in his characteristically staccato fashion) but it seemed to me that he gave his name as Bon. Both Fuk and Bon (as I shall call him, for I sense a neat play on words in the offing) exhibit good customer relations skills: on telling you their own names, they politely ask for your own and then manage to remember and use it consistently. A small touch, but a canny and endearing one. Can the appropriate software be programmed, I wonder, into Mrs Rit?

The interesting new conjunction of names at Rit’s concession offers all sorts of promising possibilities. It occurs to me, for instance, that a new form of verbal greeting might develop. When a friend leaves the beach to go to lunch, one might wish him Bon appetit! to send him on his way. When a farang and a go-go boy have been together for two consecutive days, the salutation Bon anniversaire! might be appropriate, for, given the average length of such relationships, you’re unlikely, after all, to be able to use it on any subsequent occasion. Sending off a miserable farang to the airport might provoke a collective cheer of Bon voyage!. And now we can surely risk the wrath of the Academie Française by adding a novel French expression of our own, a wish addressed to any farang seen leaving Dongtan Beach with a masseur – Bon Fuk! [Forgive the somewhat laboured wit today: it’s hard to keep coming up with top quality gems and you’ll have to accept that they’re occasionally going to be less Ken Dodd than Ken Dudd.]

Anyway, I think we will leave Bon to settle in for a few days before we return to the beach to see how he’s been getting on – even though, at this very early stage, I think I can say, even without the benefit of second sight, that he’s likely to do very well, thank you very much.

That, then, takes us neatly to the ice cream seller, another young man of such considerable charisma and charm that I begin to believe that all such vendors must have passed through the hands of Miss Noi’s School of Modern Etiquette and Manners (cash only; no refunds). You’ll recall that yesterday saw an instance of two steps forward and one step back. Today, on the other hand, I can’t help feeling that we may have taken three steps in the right direction – that direction being ultimately, of course and as you have no doubt already correctly anticipated, the stairs to my room. Well, he is certainly a very shy young man in public. Even though he speaks little and – when he does so at all – quietly, he still seems utterly paranoid about us being overheard. Our preliminary romantic skirmishes took place, therefore, via his phone. It has one of those translation apps built into it, so we passed it hand-to-hand between us. I would take a minute of so to compose as clear, succinct and unambiguous request as possible. I’d hand it to him, wait at least one or two minutes each time and then it would then be handed back. The answers suggested that the app’s software may be based on some long-lost language spoken widely more than a millenium before the fall of Ayutthaya. “Will you come to my room?” “I come work yesterday.” “What time do you finish work?” “Chaos.” And so on… Ultimately, with the phone abandoned in favour of whispering sweet nothings under the cover of Mrs Rit’s gently reverberating snores, we fixed on meeting in Jomtien Complex in the late afternoon. And, dear reader, he turned up! With, I hasten to add, an accompanying bodyguard – though thankfully not a fearsome tom dee [see my post above] - who was to stand waiting outside for the boy’s eventual exit.

With such a nervous young (actually, it transpires mid-20s) colt – and if you are looking for something with more potential than just a quickie – the correct tactic, I find, is to take it slowly. Having enticed him to my chamber of delights (well, air-con and a hot shower seem delightful to most boys after a day’s hard pounding up and down the beach) and with the offer of a generous pecuniary sum in exchange for a demonstration of his old skills as a masseur, I took things very calmly. I lay out a towel on the bed, handed him some cream, pointed out a problem area in my back and settled (completely naked) face down. He, I think, was entirely surprised by the matter-of-fact approach that I’d adopted. He proceeded to give a B++ grade massage, certainly better than you’d encounter from many of the boys on the beach – and he judged my tolerance level for pain pretty well. When I turned over after 30 minutes and he saw that I was not displaying any visible sign of interest (our family is well-known for its remarkable self-control in dangerous circumstances such as these), he seemed mightily relieved and any hint of the tentative or reluctant in his manipulation was thereafter banished. At the end of the hour I and he got dressed (he’d started the job fully clothed and then, as his confidence increased and as the air-con was still as I’d told him not entirely truthfully, malfunctioning, he’d gradually divested himself of clothes down to underwear). He looked both relieved and reassured that I’d lived up to my end of the bargain and it was he who proposed that he’d like to visit me again soon. I have plenty of time left in Jomtien, so I am inclined to keep him waiting a little before purposing some thing like a special massage next time. Let’s see what happens…

In the evening my two friends and I ate at Café des Amis, with the more generous/by far the wealthiest of us picking up the bill (more than £300!). Everyone thought the food was very good (main courses were a steak of wagyu beef, snowfish and boeuf bourguignon) but you pay for the setting as well as the cooking. As my readers are cosmopolitan men of the world, they’ll appreciate knowing that that there’s now a very handsome half Thai-half English waiter who was brought up in Chessington. That’s a town in England famous for an attraction called The world of adventures – so perhaps some lucky farang customer of Café des Amis will one day find himself being offered one? I once offed a waiter from the Royal Cliff Chrysanthemum Restaurant but, as it was via the maitre d’ of the time who was a notorious pimp of his prettier staff to favoured customers, I don’t think that counts. Yes, the new Café des Amis waiter certainly more than passes muster, though it’s still somewhat disconcerting when a waiter at such a place with high end pretensions – usually the most silent, invisible and deferential of creatures – forcefully enquires at the end of taking the order: So that’s all, is it, then, guys?

After our meal, we departed to Boyztown and immediately to Toy Boys. That was once again full of boys – about a dozen were on stage at any one time – and exuded a happy, positive vibe. One of my friends quickly offed his petite Cambodian friend from the night before and headed off back with him on motorbikes to Jomtien Complex: it seems that on their previous encounter the boy had not only participated apparently happily in some of my friend’s more esoteric practices but had been happy to continue so doing until 6 am the following morning.

My other friend and I, meanwhile, decided to make a more leisurely return to the Complex, but finding nothing particular there to excite us, decided on another early night.

[Marsilius]

Sunday 22 December

From today, the tone of the diary of my trip will change a little. That’s because I shall be in Bangkok until Wednesday.

Although I have been to the city, many, many times, I have not set down roots there to the extent that I have in Pattaya. I know no characters there, in the same way as I know them in Pattaya and Jomtien – at least to the extent of being able to characterise them recognisably, I hope, to the rest of you: Rit, Mrs Rit, the straw-hatted boy who yells ice cleam, ice cleam, we all scleam for ice cleam!, before, I am told, at the end of the day climbing into and driving away in an expensive-looking car, the various doughnut sellers, deck-chair boys, toenail-trimming harpies, masseurs, mamasans con-artists and the rest.

In Bangkok, on the other hand, I rarely stay at the same place or visit the same night-time venues regularly, so I cannot expatiate on the particular idiosyncrasies of the city’s inhabitants – other than in the most general terms – in the same way.

In any case, it was late afternoon / early evening before I reached the capital city to await my husband (yes, there really is one – our 32nd anniversary was last month) at the old Sofitel Hotel on Silom Road. It’s now revamped itself, in a gesture to modernisation and in a genuflection to the youth culture, into the Pullman 9. The reception area has become a modernistic stark white (with, of all things, a futuristic cellophane tee-pee set up in the middle for some reason), and if any of the greeters are under 30 years old then I’m a stick of lemon grass. It’s so hip that it may soon be in need of a transplant.

Some of the rooms have been appointed in a similar fashion, with whitewashed walls suggesting that you are sleeping in a gents’ urinal. While some others may find that an attractive prospect or one quite reminiscent of misspent younger days in cottages (or tea-rooms, I believe, to our transatlantic cousins) , we have preferred to rent a more traditionally equipped Executive Suite (great views from the 31st floor, large sitting room with large bathroom off, adjoining a large bedroom with another large bathroom off; breakfast included; free canapés and cocktails in the lounge overlooking the city in the early evening).

We enjoyed dinner with a friend in the Blue Elephant Restaurant, an upmarket establishment that prides itself on producing high-quality traditional Thai dishes. After a complimentary introductory cocktail, an amuse bouche of salmon tartare was followed by a second of a spicy chicken broth over a small piece of chicken. Two of us had starters of scallops with black garlic and an asparagus mousse, while our companion ate vegetable spring rolls (imagine coming all the way to Bangkok for those: I could have had them back home in Bristol!) Our main courses were a wagyu beef Penang, lamb massaman curry and beef cheeks in spicy Thai sauce – each was offered with a choice of steamed jasmine rice or sticky black rice. Desserts were a banana and caramel concoction, Thai-tea-and-coconut ice cream and a platter of fresh mango. We shared a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and finished off with complimentary glasses of a lychee liqueur poured over a real lychee. The cost was about 8,000 baht.

After that, we were ready to look at a few old favourite bars and a few newly relocated ones. We were fortunate to be the only customers in Nature Boys, because anyone who’s been there knows that it can hold no more than about half a dozen customers. There were three boys, all dressed for go-go but none of them dancing, and each immediately attached himself to one of our party. While they were certainly acceptable, chatty and generally amenable companions – maybe for another night? - we moved quickly on to our next port of call, that venerable institution Super A. Surprise! It’s no longer a case of climbing up a rickety staircase, because the place now occupies the ground floor. There were about six or seven boys there, all in street clothes, and just lined up in front of us standing still. There was a notable absence of the screechy queenier types in which Super A used to specialise. I recall recent warnings here about a rogue mamasan and the need to check your change, but the staff seemed perfectly pleasant and the change rendered was spot-on.

From there we passed Tawan (an old favourite but one that lost me as a patron when the young men started wearing masks and destroying, thereby, the fantasy that they are real) and then moved east along Suriwong towards Patpong, the new HQ of gay life, so I’ve read here, in this part of town. The biggest bars seem to be at the Suriwong Road end of Patpong and we sampled two of them. We climbed a short flight of stairs to get into Fresh Boys (I think that was the name – it’s above Screwboys) just as a show was beginning. We saw a big cock show, a candle show, a shower show and a fucking show -a typical night’s family entertainment for the district, so you might say. Going downstairs again to Screwboys itself, our seats made getting a good view more difficult but we could make out yet more big cock and fucking shows, though this time interspersed with songs delivered by kathois of various degrees of self-proclaimed talent. Initial impressions of both bars were that they were efficiently run, had plenty of attractive boys to suit most tastes (erring, perhaps, in the direction of the more muscular type) but were definitely pricier in terms of the cost of drinks than we had been used to in Pattaya and Jomtien.

As our carriages by now awaited, we eventually downed our drinks and, as the dear old News of the World invariably used to put it, “we made our excuses and left”.

[pong]

[QUOTE=Marsilius;263324]Sunday 22 December
From today, the tone of the diary of my trip will change a little. That’s because I shall be in Bangkok until Wednesday.

Me not, Iĺl fly home tonight, on SQ via SIN

But back to your excellent reports and esp. the 4 reasons you described about the bar model slowing going astray. A possible 5th is that the nr of such senior gentlemen on the search for young+willing Thai boys is also diminishing-or slowly dying out. Plus the many other ways that instant bodily contact is now much more easy in the 100s of massageshops without all that fuss of overloud music, pesky mamasans, boydrinks or opening the roombar to be robbed of all Sing bottles, etc. Its also much more easy for guys to work there as they do much less need to stick to all the rules and formats of bars and can do parttime besides study or job.
And yes, the current nr of kids the average Thai women produces is down to 1,6 which thus means that the nr of boys as such is also diminishing quite rapidly. See the influx of Khmer, Burmese and even VNese (Lao are so few that hardly counts).

[frequent]

I have friends who no longer need to go to Thailand or even leave their home town, such is the number and variety of Asian students now abroad. Is that reason #6?

[pong]

And about names: the guy you think is BON most likely is called translated from Thai as BALL. Bon is not a Thai name at all (it means UP), ball is and the Thai tendency to be unable to speak a final S after a word als makes any final L being turned into N. Its a high rising tone. And he most likely got it as a teen while he liked to play-
football then of course.

[pong]

And then to BKK: wel, I must have retraced your steps last night-and I dont come there that often. You missed out on the venerable Golden Cock-one of the very, very few bars remaining on the same spot since some 30 yrs. On the other forum was a recent report of people visitng the 3 cheap bars there as 1st timer and also described the renovated surroundings in all 3-long overdue. They must feel the heat of the competition now much closer by and all made new just a month or 2 ago. Ist that the Pullmann in black beside the superhyped-trendy W Hotel, across from the Plaza with Arena massage in it?

[arsenal]

Can I nail the myth that there are fewer boys willing to work in go go bars. There aren't. Go go bars full of customers are full of boys. It's the lack of customers that is the problem. Fill your bar with customers and the boys will come. IE. Winner Boys, Toy Boys and previously Nice Boys.

Please God. Give Nice Boys a second coming and deliver it from closure. Hallowed is its name and let it give us our daily bread. Forgive those who trespass against it for it is the kingdom.
Ahhh. Men.

[Marsilius]

Monday 23 December

[Apologies: in previous posts I referred to my Bangkok hotel as “Pullman 9”. Goodness knows where that came from! It is, in fact, Pullman G. I must have been having a “senior moment”.]

Monday was the first of our two full days in Bangkok. My husband and I, as the dear Queen might say, spent the day pottering around in a mixture of pleasure-seeking and fulfilling some long-overdue domestic requirements (and no, I don’t mean auditioning and recruiting a new poolboy – that’s one of your own fantasies for once!)

Feel free to pass over the next paragraph or two with the merest cursory glance if the details of another person’s domestic life aren’t your cup of tea. In my considered and considerable experience, however, there’s a reason why many homeowners’ first investment is in some net curtains: and while it may not always be that they’re preventing others’ salacious and prying eyes from observing their dalliances with the aforementioned poolboy, there’s usually something that they’d rather others didn’t see. Not so in my trip report – it will be a policy of full disclosure here. There’s another, more practical reason, too, why I’m going to stick in some of the minutiae of daily life – in order to maintain the sheer length of the Bangkok reports. I don’t, you see, wish to convey the impression that the life of a thriving southeast Asia mega-metropolis ought to be entirely subordinated to the daily shenanigans taking place in a vibrant but rather (enjoyably) seedy seaside resort that, 50 years ago, was little more than a fishing village - albeit one with a neatly profitable sideline in providing R&R facilities to US servicemen taking a break from the Vietnam War and who would otherwise have been left twiddling their thumbs (or else, more probably, another more substantial and interesting bodily digit).

Anyway, down to brass tacks – though thankfully nothing quite as mundane as those were on our shopping list. After a very filling breakfast at Pullman G, we decided to clear the cobwebs with a 90 minutes klong trip. That’s a great way to see something of Bangkok’s arse – the rears of those houses that present a proud façade to the world but, in reality, can be quite decrepit on the side that only passing water traffic observes. You also see something of the intimate details of Thai domestic life on the water too. We spend, after all, a great deal of our time chasing arses of quite another sort in Bangkok so it doesn’t seem too out of place to explore the less fragrant urban one too. My husband was, as ever, the consummate bargainer. At the Saphan Thaksin pier, we were first of all quoted a price of 3000 baht for a long-tailed boat to ourselves. He said no. The vendor reduced it to 2000 baht. Husband countered with 1800 baht. Agreed. We waited ten minutes, to then received another offer (I think the vendor was fed up with us glowering at the delay): 300 baht each if we sailed with one other couple. Down from 3000 to 600 – a result! Our driver (or should I say Admiral?) was a good sport who, given his relatively light load, kept up an exciting pace. Only twice were we held up for substantial periods at lock gates – I think that the vendor must have radioed ahead to his cousin, the lock gate operator, so as to pay us back for being cheapskates.

After the klong trip, we headed to the western end of Silom where, for years, we have been patronising a cutlery shop and building up an impressive collection at home of one particular design. Last year we managed to clear the dear old soul out of her chopsticks – but that had produced a sum total of 11. Unfortunately, our quest to find a one armed dinner party guest (he’d presumably have to spear his noodle strands) had drawn a blank, and so it had become imperative, if we are to maintain our position among the social elite of southwest England to obtain that 12th chopstick. We were, however, defeated yet again by the idiosyncrasies of the Thai capitalist model. Ah, you might suppose, the shopkeeper, having sold all the stock last year, will sense it’s an item in some demand and replenish her stock. Of course, she hadn’t! (Even though she actually remembered that the eccentric falang had bought an odd number last year!)

Our second object of the day, if we discount the unsuccessful recruitment of the would-be poolboy, was to look at paintings. We’ve recently had the sitting room redecorated (in Farrow & Ball’s “Bancha” and “Hay”, since you’re all dying to know) and last year had bought in Silom Road a large copy of one of Zhang Xiaogang’s striking Bloodline paintings (they take them off the frame for you, roll them up in a cardboard tube and you then reframe them to your taste back at home). We thought that a second one might look good too, so visited the same art “gallery”, even though, given that more paintings are just stacked on top of each other than are actually hung on the walls, it’s a bit of a plum pudding of a shopping experience. A couple of rather good copies were for sale, so we might go back again to take a second look tomorrow.

After that, we were joined by a friend, quite new to Bangkok, who asked us to guide him back in the direction of the bars where, the previous night, he’d spotted lots of masseurs on the streets touting for trade. It was now, maybe 1.30 pm or so and rather naively, based on our experience of Sodom-by-the-Sea where the massage joints open from late morning (“Handsome maaaan!... You want massaaaage?”), we assumed there’d be no problem. Shows how little we really know Bangkok. Last night the sois had been full of eager hands offering to demonstrate their skills in, no doubt, the most revivifying of places. In the cold (well, 35 degrees C) light of day, however, there now wasn’t even a solitary finger. Of course, you don’t need to tell me that there are dozens of establishments to be found at the drop of a telephone book. I’d always thought, for instance, that the name Hero was a particularly well chosen one for such an establishment, given that – looking at some of the farang passing through its necessarily wide portals – you’d have to be something of a hero to work there. In the absence of carrying the necessary information with us, however, our friend’s quest to locate an on-street masseur proved a sadly abortive one.

After Pullman G’s free late afternoon cocktails and canapes, we took a little nap before setting off for dinner. Our friend is not one to allow the fact that he’s in a fascinatingly exotic environment get in the way of a good piece of meat, so to speak, so our journey involved a very substantial taxi ride – in exceptionally slow traffic – to a Marriott Hotel which boasted a New York Steak House. I have to admit that the steak (an enormous porterhouse, shared with my husband) was one of the best that I have ever eaten. I suppose, though, that we will soon need to start filing such wonderful experiences away in our memory banks if St Greta of Thunberg gets her way and has us all eating seeds and grass as we weave our basketware.

Our lack of preparedness / general knowledge of Bangkok became all too apparent once again when we asked the Marriott staff about getting a taxi back to Patpong and they pointed out that Nana Skytrain station was just a few hundred meters away. The stressful initial taxi ride that had got us there 25 minutes late could easily, it seems, have been avoided in the first place!

At Patpong, we explored two more go-go bars. The first was Dream Boys and the second was Lucky Boys. Dream Boys’s layout was interesting. A small thrust stage allowed three boys at a time to showcase themselves before moving back into the throng of, I’d guess, 20-30 boys on the main platform. The quality of the young men was really high – I’d have been delighted to have virtually any of them scouring the algae off the sides of my pool or, indeed, giving my own personal plumbing a once-over. The audience filled most of the available seats and seemed to enjoy comparing and contrasting (as we were always exhorted to do at A level) the various appendages standing proud and in full view when not actually impaling some benighted (or, more probably, delighted) soul. Our friend selected a young man who seemed remarkably affectionate in public, so I only hope that that promise was fulfilled later in private.

Lucky Boys had even more boys on display – more than 30, I’d have guessed. Their standard routine was cleverly constructed to show each of them off to maximum effect - an admirably executed, if necessarily crude, attempt to emulate the Paris Opera Ballet’s Grand Defile (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8ozV8Dw-OQ – your culture fix of the day). It gave an excellent opportunity to see them all and repeatedly up close and, although we didn’t get to see a show in Lucky Boys, the eye candy alone made it a worthwhile visit. It’s all to one’s personal taste, I appreciate, but I did think the Lucky Boys scored even higher in the looks stakes than the Dream Boys.

Once again, we made our way back to Pullman G where we enjoyed yet another enjoyable night’s sleep.

[Marsilius]

And about names: the guy you think is BON most likely is called translated from Thai as BALL. Bon is not a Thai name at all (it means UP), ball is and the Thai tendency to be unable to speak a final S after a word als makes any final L being turned into N. Its a high rising tone. And he most likely got it as a teen while he liked to play-
football then of course.

That's exactly the sort of thing that many of us here won't know, so thank you for enlightening us. I will keep calling him Bon if you don't mind, however, just for the sake of consistency.

[frequent]

That's exactly the sort of thing that many of us here won't know, so thank you for enlightening us. I will keep calling him Bon if you don't mind, however, just for the sake of consistency.There's a skin clinic chain in Bangkok (branch in Silom for example) whose signs proclaim it to be "Nitipon" in English but the Thai is written as "Nitipol" - นิติพลคลินิก สาขาสีลม transliterates as Niti phl khlinik s̄āk̄hā s̄īlm according to Google Translate. A friend of mine's Thai passport name is also Nithipol but he pronounces it Nithipon

[BOY69]

"Although I have been to the city, many, many times, I have not set down roots there to the extent that I have in Pattaya. I know no characters there, in the sake way as I know them in Pattaya and Jomtien "

I feel the same as you, Pattaya is like a second home for me where I feel more calm and comfortable everything is reachable by walk distance or short drive by Baht bus.Bangkok is too big for me,too much traffic, pollution and crowded.
Lovely report Marsilius enjoyed your excellent writing skills.

[Marsilius]

Ist that the Pullmann in black beside the superhyped-trendy W Hotel, across from the Plaza with Arena massage in it?

I am told that there are two Pullmans in Bangkok and, although when I went out this morning I looked at ours from various perspectives, it didn't seem to tally with your description. If you exit Chong Nonsi BTS and head north up towards Silom Road - and then turn left and head westwards towards the river along Silom Road, our Pullman may be found after a couple of hundred meters or so on the opposite (northern) side of the road. Its address is given as 188 Silom Road.

[Marsilius]

Tuesday 24 December

This, the final full day of my brief visit to Bangkok, was somewhat abbreviated – as this report will also therefore be - by the fact that I was suffering the effects of a very heavy cold. It was brought, I think, from the UK where several people with whom I come into close contact, most notably my husband, had been affected.

The first order of the day, however, was to visit the Silom “art gallery”, i.e. one of those places where talented copyists turn out a copy of the Mona Lisa that’s so convincing that your guests back home will think that you’ve got the original while Paris’s Louvre Museum must perforce be exhibiting merely an insipid copy whose careless forger has unaccountably forgotten to show the enigmatic subject with a spliff gripped firmly between her teeth.

This particular establishment does not have the usual resident artist beavering away at a fake Roy Lichtenstein or Tamara de Lempicka and so might conceivably be mistaken by a (very) naïve tourist as a purveyor of the real thing. You can’t, however, fool me or, more particularly, my thrifty husband who was determined to pay no more than the minimum necessary to acquire a large copy of one of Zhang Xiaogang’s strikigly in-your-face Bloodlines paintings to join the one we bought last year and is now to be found in our sitting room back home.

My husband, as I have already noted, loves striking a bargain. I, on the other hand, like many other westerners, get so embarrassed by the whole negotiating process that I prefer to wander off and listen from a distance while the pecuniary details are hammered out. Even the great Michel Barnier himself could not, I think, have struck a better deal – not with the gallery owner himself, a rather mild man who’d proved relatively easy to beat down in price last year, but with his far tougher wife who’d given him a severe tongue-lashing 12 months ago when she discovered how little he’d got. Even Madame herself was, however, no match for husband who, by a combination of resolute stonewalling and a few minor tactical concessions that allowed his opponent to save a modicum of face, secured the purchase not for the original asking price of 18,000 baht but for just 5,000. Of course, we all know that the gallery will still be making a profit at the lower figure but, as husband forcefully made plain to Madame, it was either 5,000 baht in cash or no Christmas turkey on her table this year.

The excitement of the transaction – along with my heavy cold – forced me to retire to my Pullman G bedroom for the afternoon, but by the evening I was sufficiently recovered to prepare myself for the long-anticipated dinner at the Oriental Hotel’s two-Michelin-starred Le Normandie restaurant. Presumably because of the festive season (ho, ho, ho, young man, have I got a surprise in my sac for you!), its normal a la carte menu had been replaced by a seven-course tasting menu with each stage complemented by a different specially-selected wine. Writing at justified length about the food would require far more space than I have available here, so I will merely report that the whole experience was rather magical. With, however, my resolutely blocked sunuses impairing my senses of both taste and smell, the evening was made memorable less by the food - which, I found in any case, a little on the heavy side - than by (a) a mini concert by an accomplished group of Thai carol singers (not only Silent night but a rousing account of Santa Claus is coming to town of which Phil Spector himself might have been proud) led by a charming young lady who proved a masterly virtuoso on the triangle, (b) a spectacular fireworks display launched from river barges sponsored by The Oriental and its neighbouring Peninsula Hotel, and (c) the final bill (when I tell you that our introductory glasses of champagne came in at 1,600 baht each, you'll get the eye-watering idea, so thank the lord that we saved so much on Bloodlines).

After a trip back to the Pullman to change out of Le Normandie’s required jackets – but not ties – it was off to Patpong to explore the yet unsampled Hotmale go-go bar. There were only about ten boys in the place when we got there, though once again the standard was very high. There were hardly any customers apart from us. We passed quickly on to Lucky Boys, our preferred destination of the night before, where once again the number of boys on stage must have been at least 30. No-one could have failed to find a boy to their taste at Lucky Boys and we enjoyed, for our last evening in Bangkok, the skilful ministrations of one of them - a memorable finale to our side trip to the capital.

[Marsilius]

Wednesday 25 December – Christmas Day

In the morning we returned from Bangkok to Pattaya. Christmas Day traffic seemed very light in both central and outer Bangkok – something that I might normally have expected to find in a nominally Christian country but which seems strange in such an overtly and strongly Buddhist one as Thailand.

Normally, I’d have used www.thelimopattaya.com but when, last week, I’d booked a taxi for my late-arriving husband to take him straight from Suvarnabhumi airport to the Pullman G, it seemed somewhat inappropriate to use a company with “Pattaya” in its name for a journey that went nowhere near Sin City itself. I did not even make even the initial enquiry, therefore, though no doubt many of you will now point out that you’ve happily used its services to transport you all the way between the furthest reaches of Isaan when visiting the legendary grandmama and her ever-ailing buffalo.

A bit of basic Googling had instead turned up www.thaihappytaxi.com and, as a result, I can now add a further entry to our list of recommended taxi companies. Its comprehensive online booking process, speed of response and confirmation and its very professional pickup service (providing an exact location and giving the driver a clearly printed name-card that even the most short-sighted of travellers couldn’t miss) were all impressive. I’d therefore booked them once again for today’s Bangkok-to-Pattaya journey and things couldn’t have gone more smoothly, with the driver using SatNav to get us to East Suites’s very front entrance without once needing to ask us where the heck Jomtien Complex might be. [A brief diversion: having just typed it, I find myself somewhat bemused by the word “heck”? What the heck is a “heck” anyway? The preceding “the” suggests that it must be a noun. If so, is there a Thai equivalent that a confused native-speaking driver might have uttered? Or perhaps it’s simply one of those American circumlocutions: just as US live TV hosts will usually, for instance, exclaim “oh, shoot!” when everyone knows that they really mean “oh, shit!”, maybe “what the heck?” is merely a sanitised transatlantic version of “what the fuck?”]

On arrival at East Suites, we swiftly changed clothes and headed for Dongtan beach. You will recall that I had been absent in Bangkok for only three days, but even in that short time the earth – or at least its sandy and now agreeably cigarette-butt-free beach – had veritably shifted on its axis at Dongtan. Sure enough, Rit was still to be found repeatedly adding up the same rows of near-illegible figures in his little accounts book while no doubt dreaming of his preferred recreation of fishing, while his all-powerful spouse, now restored to her usual Buddha-like passivity, still presided serenely at the top of the beach, mistress of all she surveyed (the toilet block). And yet, so the rumour mill (aka David from Sheffield) had it, major change had been afoot. To be specific, Fuk and Bon had disappeared! [Despite my learned friends’ valuable corrections, I will continue to use those no doubt erroneous forms of their names for the sake of consistency]. Fuk, it was generally accepted, was absent because he had some sort of fever – though, given that such a categorisation might include Dengue and Ebola, I did consider it somewhat irresponsible that no nosey, public spirited or merely heath conscious farang had thought to enquire any further on the matter, let alone send urgently for the immediate services of a Harley Street specialist. The case of the missing Bon was, however, even more intriguing, with the story going that, during his first day working on the beach, he’d attracted the attention of a lascivious – and, let’s be honest, lucky – farang who’d subsequently whisked him off for an evening of gross debauchery and, no doubt, a promise of a life of limitless luxury to come. Let me stress, this was merely a rumour – and quite probably, at that, little more than a case of extremely wishful thinking – but when beach patrons have little else to do, in between buying pirated Bel Ami videos and attempting to seduce the nearest ice cream salesman, such titillating tales can only thrive.

So concerned was I about the missing Fuk and Bon – and the danger that I might not have such useful names from which to make future bad jokes – that I failed to note anything about their emergency replacement who was presumably brought in so that Mrs Rit’s immobility might be maintained.

Much more interesting, however, was the first sighting in a year or two of one of the beach’s farang “characters”. While the species is, as a whole, in serious decline, what with the general homogenisation of gay society and the parallel influx of Russians who look like travelling Millwall supporters, this guy remains entirely nonpareil and in a class of his own. Rather well built and, so I understand (thank you, David from Sheffield), a Canadian, he sashays back and forth along the front of the beach chairs in the manner of a latterday Mae West (though, sadly, without the attendant train of bodybuilders). He tends to wear the most dainty, lacey all-in-white creations including, usually, a sort of abbreviated tutu, though in truth he appears less likely to deliver 32 perfect fouettés than an accomplished bunch of fives. The great thing is, however, that he appears entirely at ease with himself – good for him, I’d say, and a tribute to the acceptance of all forms of self-expression that Pattaya offers and from which we all benefit.

At the risk of repeating myself – which may henceforth, I’m afraid, given the shrinking number of gay bars outside of Jomtien Complex, become a somewhat inevitable characteristic of these reports – I spent the evening at X-Boys in Boyztown and Nice Boys in Sunnee Plaza. X-Boys had a 10 pm show that modified some of the elements I’d already seen – most notably in displaying its larger-appendaged employees in a different opening big cock routine. There were rather more customers in evidence to watch it tonight, but the place was still, I’d have estimated, little more than half full. My previous double-off came to sit with me and, given that the progress he’d made in basic English last week had now apparently gone into reverse, I suspect that he hasn’t had an English client since then. I should, perhaps, have tried out my ‘O’ level Russian on him, just in case he’d been offed lately by one of those travelling Millwall supporters. I tipped him well and told him I’d be in touch – which I almost certainly will as I enjoyed his company (so to speak) a great deal last week.

Meanwhile, the Nice Boys were somewhat reduced in number. Cheeky number 7, one of my favourites, wasn’t there, though number 21, the tall lanky boy with the fringe, was, as ever, masturbating for England – or, at any rate, for the English customers. Why his dick hasn’t been worn away to a shred by now, I will never understand. After handing out 20 baht notes to the most deserving wankers, I caught a songthaew back to Jomtien and bed. [Advice to others: I’ve now given up trying to flag down buses at the VC Hotel or at the bottom of Soi Yensabai. Either they’re already completely full or else seem to be under orders not to pick up new passengers there. The best option is now, I find, to walk back to the general boarding area by the school and to join the thankfully brief - but bossily regimented - queue there.]

[frequent]

A bit of basic Googling had instead turned up www.thaihappytaxi.com and ...
A brief diversion: having just typed it, I find myself somewhat bemused by the word “heck”? What the heck is a “heck” anyway? The preceding “the” suggests that it must be a noun. If so, is there a Thai equivalent that a confused native-speaking driver might have uttered? Or perhaps it’s simply one of those American circumlocutions: just as US live TV hosts will usually, for instance, exclaim “oh, shoot!” when everyone knows that they really mean “oh, shit!”, maybe “what the heck?” is merely a sanitised transatlantic version of “what the fuck?”https://www.quora.com/Is-heck-a-bad-word - "heck" = "hell" (as "a bit of basic Googling" would have revealed)

[Marsilius]

Thursday 26 December – Boxing Day

Breakfast used to be a regular start to the day in Pattaya, but these days I often – indeed, usually, and no doubt to the immense despair of nutritionists who say it is the most important meal of the day - choose to give it a miss. That’s partly because, as I am getting older, I find that I eat less anyway. Nowadays I often find myself asking my husband to clear my plate for me, which, a few years ago, would have been as unlikely as finding a bicep, tricep or any other sort of cep on a Winner Boy, no matter how comprehensibly, thoroughly and diligently one had searched for it.

Another reason why I avoid Thai breakfasts is, though, that they tend to be so uninspiring at a time of day when, after too much beer the night before, I most definitely do want to be inspired. The same old over-fried bacon, over-solid egg and over-recycled sausage no longer cuts the mustard (or, rather, the HP Sauce). The terrible excuse for bread – redolent of nothing so much as Slimcea or Nimble – and the rock-hard butter that ends up as an unmashable giant lump leaving 95% of the toast’s surface area as a lubrication-free zone fill one with despair. And as for the insipid Thai version of a cup of breakfast tea, I give up entirely. The sight of the yellow label on its cotton thread dangling over the rim of a mug is enough to drive a man to drink (anything else). Old Sir Thomas Lipton must be turning, one imagines, in his grave. [I know that there must be exceptions to this litany of breakfast gloom, but please keep them to yourselves. The last time I took a recommendation from a poster I ended up at that “pirate” place, just at the beginning of Dongtan beach, and found it no better than anywhere else.]

So, breakfast free, we headed once more for the beach. More drama! Bon is still absent – enveloped, we like to imagine, in the arms of his eager farang, but in greater likelihood already abandoned by his “butterfly” lover in favour of the latest “new” arrival at Cockarama Boys and now to be found gutting fish at 4 am at Naklua market. Fuk, however, is now back with us and the threat level of an epidemic of Dengue fever at Dongtan has been according reduced to moderate-to-low. In fact, Fuk continues to provide not only a pleasing element of eye-candy on Rit’s pitch but also endless topics of conversation. Today, for example, he was not, for much of the time, wearing his usual baseball cap, which generated a lively discussion on how such headwear transforms someone’s – and, in particular, a Thai boy’s – appearance. A cap, we all agreed, gives a much sexier look in that it smooths out, as it were, the head’s rough edges. “Cute” animals, after all, are often curvaceous rather than sharply angular – think cuddly bunnies, squirrels or puppies. In the same way, a baseball cap gives a smoothly rounded contour and profile to a beautiful Thai face. Unfortunately, though thankfully not in Fuk’s case, that pleasing contour is lost entirely when some Thai boys remove their caps to reveal a bushy mass of Harpo Marx hair that gives them a completely different – and, some farang appear to think, a distinctly less sexy – appearance. [By the way, I am not basing this entirely on a speculative fancy. I have, for many years, been a director of a company in the adult entertainment industry and can confirm that there are fetishes for just about everything. And while the website that used to feature nothing but boys in baseball caps now seems to have disappeared into cyberspace, I have just confirmed on your behalf that a quick Google search of “boys in baseball caps gay porn” still throws up plenty of stimulating results.]

Anyway, back to Dengue-free Dongtan, where Fuk has now been joined on Rit’s staff by Chit (yet again, someone will post that I’m probably wrong on the spelling or even the sound, but so be it). He has worked for Rit before, but about a year ago or so, I think, left to go back home, supposedly permanently, to Myanmar. At that time, we gave him a small sum to send him on his way with our best wishes. So far, however, even though the sick buffalo/grandmama has presumably now been restored to robust health, he shows no inclination to hand it back!

After our last encounter in my loooom, the ice cream boy is clearly eager to expand his pocket book (while avoiding, if he can, expanding my nether regions). Every time he passed by today, he’d stop and give my head and shoulders a tantalising mini-massage, accompanied by whispered queries - he’s still very shy, or at least appearing to be such – as to “what you do after beach?” Worn down by his persistence and for absolutely no other reason (!), at 4.30 pm I responded, albeit less whisperingly, “You come to loooom at 5 o’clock?”, to which his reply was “No, I come 4 o’clock”. Once I had pointed out that time travel had not yet been invented, he declined my proposition entirely for today, suggesting an alternative appointment for tomorrow. Of course, by then I may be inhabiting an alternative universe or time dimension entirely. On the other hand, I will probably say yes.

In the evening, we ate at a very busy Jomtien eatery on the beach road between Soi 5 and Soi 6. It was called “Surf” something-or-other (Googling and reference to TripAdvisor suggests that it is probably Surf Kitchen). The food there was generally pretty good and competitively priced, though my husband (to keep him on his toes, I usually introduce him to people as “my first husband”) was disappointed with the relative blandness of his Thai green curry (the waitress explained that the spiciness is toned down a little for the sake of most farang customers).

After that, we adjourned to Jomtien Complex where, instead of sitting at our usual places in Sun Bar, we people-watched from the rival establishment across the road. The most interesting part of the evening was when what appeared to be a farang couple – identically dressed and coiffured – sat next to us. As it turned out, they were just friends, but the memorable part of the evening was when the subject veered to UK politics. They were both ardent Brexiteers from Brexit-voting areas and simply could not even begin to comprehend the fact that my two companions and I (all from Remain-supporting regions) felt innately “European”, whereas they felt most definitely – and solely – “English” (and not even “British”). According to one of them – parroting, he said, Margaret Thatcher – only bad things (such as Marxism and socialism) had ever come from Europe, while all then good aspects of British life derived from the model of the USA. He even condemned the NHS – which Boris Johnson has just praised as a “crown jewel” of British life – because it offered equality of treatment regardless of how much you had “paid in”. He was as astonished that we defended the NHS, upheld so-called socialist models of life as are to be found under European social democratic systems, condemned unequal outcomes dependant on wealth in healthcare and so on. We all concluded that British (or, has he would have said, English) society remains polarised into two incompatible tribes and that, while we might see eye to eye on the subject of Thai boys, we’d never reach a meeting of minds on things back home.

Time for bed.

[neddy3]

A nice read, Marsilius.

[Ivory]

I had to google "Millwall supporters" to understand what you mean. Is it all that bad from the side?..

[Marsilius]

I must apologise that my reports are inevitably written in a manner that will be easily understood by British people, but may contain references that could mystify others.

All best wishes to you in Moscow - and if we ever cross paths in Pattaya, I hope that you will allow me to buy you a vodka!

[Marsilius]

https://www.quora.com/Is-heck-a-bad-word - "heck" = "hell" (as "a bit of basic Googling" would have revealed)

I deliberately refrained, in that instance, from Googling the answer as (a) the issue, which genuinely flummoxed me although the answer should have been obvious, made up a chatty extra five lines in what was otherwise a rather briefer than usual report, and (b) I hoped to get a response - for which I offer you thanks - to indicate that someone, somewhere, is reading the random jottings of a few idle moments.

[bkkguy]

Fuk has now been joined on Rit’s staff by Chit (yet again, someone will post that I’m probably wrong on the spelling or even the sound, but so be it)

if you were back in Bangkok, with the same leeway of spelling and sound, you could see more chit and even a song

[poshglasgow]

I deliberately refrained, in that instance, from Googling the answer as (a) the issue, which genuinely flummoxed me although the answer should have been obvious, made up a chatty extra five lines in what was otherwise a rather briefer than usual report, and (b) I hoped to get a response - for which I offer you thanks - to indicate that someone, somewhere, is reading the random jottings of a few idle moments.

May I add one more? FECK', used liberally by the Irish to avoid the wrath of God (as if he's going to be tricked into missing the obvious translation: FUCK)! I can't stand the overuse and it is one of the reasons I do not watch that tripe, Mrs. Brown's Boys. I frequent, on occasions, a bar near Hastings, run by a charming Irish couple and they liberally employ the use of Feck (both as a verb and a noun) and its adjectival equivalent 'Fecking' (as in, "She's got a fecking nerve asking for a non-alcoholic lager in an Irish bar.")

"....though in truth he appears less likely to deliver 32 perfect fouettés than an accomplished bunch of fives." Excellent! I thought that was very amusing. I'm sure I have seen this guy mince through boyztown on recent visits to Pattaya, and you're right: I'm sure he can take care of himself!! Could it be Desmond...Desmond Tutu?

[poshglasgow]

if you were back in Bangkok, with the same leeway of spelling and sound, you could see more chit and even a song

Master of Ceremonies announcing the arrival of a couple and their son at the BTS Skytrain Christmas Ball:

"Mister and Mrs. Lom and their son, Chit!"

[Keith]

I am glad there are fans of 'I'm sorry I haven't a clue' on this forum!

[frequent]

May I add one more? FECK', used liberally by the Irish to avoid the wrath of God (as if he's going to be tricked into missing the obvious translation: FUCK)! I can't stand the overuse and it is one of the reasons I do not watch that tripe, Mrs. Brown's Boys.I'm afraid, poshglasgow, that that's an LM offence right there - https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/03/21/queen-huge-fan-mrs-browns-boys-shows-star-reveals/

[poshglasgow]

I am glad there are fans of 'I'm sorry I haven't a clue' on this forum!

Indeed, Keith, I am a fan. There were so many late arrivals at the Ball. Do you remember....Mr and Mrs Bennett-That's-Twice-The-Estimate, and their son, Gordon?

Mr and Mrs. Ritchie and their daughter, Matitsa?

It's Christmas so let's have a bit of fun. We invite additional contributions on a similar theme, but within a Thai context?

Okay, let's get the ball rolling. How about....Mr. and Mrs. Plaza and the children's favourite granny, Nana Plaza?

Any others?

[poshglasgow]

"I'm afraid, poshglasgow, that that's an LM offence..."

Quite right, Frequent. Off to the Monkey House then....

Eh, which one, Regent's Park or the Tower of London?

[poshglasgow]

Indeed, Keith, I am a fan. There were so many late arrivals at the Ball. Do you remember....Mr and Mrs Bennett-That's-Twice-The-Estimate, and their son, Gordon?

Mr and Mrs. Ritchie and their daughter, Matitsa?

It's Christmas so let's have a bit of fun. We invite additional contributions on a similar theme, but within a Thai context?

Okay, let's get the ball rolling. How about....Mr. and Mrs. Plaza and the children's favourite granny, Nana Plaza?

Any others?

Mr. & Mrs. Lom (again) and their other son, Si.

[poshglasgow]

Mr. & Mrs. Chanaburi and their bridge building son, Ken

[poshglasgow]

Mr. and Mrs. Ong and their son, Ray.

[Marsilius]

Please be upstanding for Mr and Mrs Aya and their daughter Pat...

And here come Mr and Mrs Plaza again, this time accompanied by their somewhat woebegone son - E. Plaza...

Oh, isn't that that sandy-haired gentleman over there Mr Don Tan-Beach, accompanied by his country cousins Mr Roy Ett, Miss Sue Rinn (with her pet elephant) and Mr C. Saket?

Oops, there's our first foreign arrivals from the region - the lovely Miss V. Ettnamm, her indolent stepmother Ma Lazia and her aunties from the rather unsophisticated north Mrs Lou Ang-Prabang and Mrs V. Enty ("Anne").

I hear that tonight's high-class catering has been done by Kath A. Desamee and Mrs U. Pinns. Anyone wishing to stay overnight will find accommodation available at the establishments run by Mr E. Sweets or Mr Roy Allcliff.

[This could go on and on - and probably will...]

[Marsilius]

You asked for it (well, you didn't but you're getting it anyway)...

The business community is now arriving, with Miss Tess Coe-Lotus acting as chaperone to a few of the younger members of the Mart family (aged from 7 to 11).

[Marsilius]

Friday 27 December

Having slept in longer than usual this morning – and then having completed two days’ worth of this ongoing trip report – I arrived comparatively late at the beach. Things seem to have settled down somewhat there, which provides me with the opportunity to tell you something about one of the major changes that’s occurred there since my last visit in the spring – the toilet block has now opened!

Long-time visitors will recall that, until a couple of years ago or so, the block was a pretty foul and disgusting place. Cockroaches ran swimming galas on the pee-covered floor, savouring smells that put to shame the public loos of Cairo that are otherwise surely the world’s worst. I have occasionally remarked, you will recall, on Mrs Rit’s Buddha-like demeanour – but in that respect she clearly took as her Platonic ideal the aged lady who sat utterly immobile at a chair outside the old toilet block with the implied threat of goodness-knows-what if you didn’t thrust your entrance fee into her eager paw (anyone more circumspect about matters of hygiene found it somewhat wiser to avoid bodily contact whatsoever and to drop a coin from a great height onto her little formica table).

Anyway, a couple of years ago, you’ll recall, said facility was closed for renovation. And then it stayed that way for, it seemed, ever. Only the facilities at Tui’s – at double the old price – offered relief to farang with weak bladders or, indeed, those in urgent need of (sorry!) a Number Two-ee.

Now, however, the new block is open. It is neat, tidy and clean to the point of smelling like a freshly-washed shirt. Neither is there any sign of any extraneous livestock scuttling around patrons’ toes in the stalls as they peruse the latest edition of the Pattaya Mail, salivating in anticipation as they scan an acute and utterly impartial restaurant review from Miss Terry Diner or gloating in self-satisfied Schadenfreude as they read of their fellow farangs’ credulous naivete in Heart to heart with Hillary.

The block’s layout has been changed to allow for four or five lock-up stalls which, in my observation, are being used not only for those Number Two-ees and by Pattaya Mail readers, but also by patrons needing simply to pee. I imagine that’s because it turns out that one of the more remarkable features of the old block has been retained. No doubt in order to maintain the fresh atmosphere inside, the door is kept quite sensibly permanently open – but that does mean that anyone passing by outside, of either sex and of any age, can still glance in and get a good profile look at a (now 4-deep) row of urinals and the variously assorted dicks emptying into them.

Previous issues with the water supply (was it too much trouble to connect to the mains?) have meanwhile been addressed by the installation of what appears to be a large reservoir tank situated alongside the block.

The final feature worthy of note is that for most of the day there doesn’t seem to be any attendant at the table outside. Instead, there’s now an honesty box, inviting you to deposit 5 baht for your, er, deposits. Honesty in Pattaya? Who’da thought it?

With those far improved facilities, beach-time is now even more pleasurable before (and I’m not referring to that opportunity to cock-watch). Today, stability in Rit’s HR department was maintained as both Fuk (with prettifying baseball cap restored) and Chit (making a game effort in a fetching straw hat right out of 1950s Italian cinema verité, but, in so doing, rather missing the point) were on duty.

So too, thankfully, was ice cream boy who, in his usual shy manner, suggested that he’d be happy to visit me in loooom at 4 pm. With my appointments book relatively free in the afternoon, I was, so to speak, able to fit him in.

Today is my husband’s birthday and so in the evening we perforce declined our invitations to the Thailand ball [some of the distinguished guest-list are listed above] in favour of a small celebration in the company of a friend at Casa Pascal. I say small, but it was anything but that in length, given that we had arrived at 7.30 pm and were still there after 11.30 pm. That’s not because of slow service but because we were delighted to find that the gourmet-menu-with-unlimited-wines option had been restored to prominence on the menu. We thought that the food was the best we had enjoyed at CP for some time and that the change to the wine option was a good one (previously you had a different bottle(s) with each single course; now you start with unlimited prosecco, then go on to unlimited white wine and, when appropriate, change to red – but you can keep all three going in parallel if you like).

Suitably “refreshed” to the point of near-incapacity, at approaching midnight the three of us toddled over the road to Toy Boys. There were hardly any customers by that time (earlier in the evenings we have found it gets very busy), with about eight boys on stage and another half dozen mingling with customers. It would, in our inebriated state, have been a waste of time to off any of them, so, taking the baht bus back to Jomtien, we retired for yet another night’s sound sleep in LOS.

[frequent]

The block’s layout has been changed to allow for four or five lock-up stalls which, in my observation, are being used not only for those Number Two-ees and by Pattaya Mail readers, but also by patrons needing simply to pee. Some of us Beat Queens would regard that as a rather pedestrian outcome

[Wotan]

Thank you Marsilius for such wonderfully informative posts. As a Pattaya newbie, dropping in later this week, can you advise how to find the beach area you refer to. I was there for a day last year and found it rather confusing. Many thanks.

[Marsilius]

Hello Wotan - and, on behalf of everyone else, welcome to the forum. Thank you too for your kind words about my reports.

Google maps should help orientate you with the following... Assuming that you are starting from south Pattaya, you need to catch a songthaew ("baht bus") where they line up - backwards! - for passengers outside the school at the junction of Second Road and Pattaya Tai.

After a few hundred meters the bus will swing left, go through a lights-controlled junction under a flyover and then carry on along a relatively straight stretch of road (firstly going slightly uphill, then coming back slightly downhill) for, I'm guessing, 1-1.5 kilometers. You will know when that stretch is coming to an end when you pass a sign on a wall on the right for the Avalon Resort and shortly afterwards, again on the right, spot a sign "Supertown" on an archway over a small road to the side. Almost immediately the bus will take a sharp right turn. After a couple of hundred meters you will see the sea ahead of you and the bus will turn left. Get off the bus and pay the driver 10 baht per person.

Facing the sea, turn right and walk along the beach side of the road, passing between the 7/11 convenience store on the right and a police box on the left. Carry on along that stretch of road, keeping the sea to your left. Soon you will come to a toilet block. Rit's chairs area is to be found - more salubriously situated than it sounds! - just in front of that.

[Wotan]

Many thanks. That all makes perfect sense. I'm staying at Baan Souy so that looks easy to find from there as the bus stops outside.

[Marsilius]

Saturday 28 December

By the time I had reached Dongtan Beach it was almost midday and it was clear that this was likely to be a generally overcast day. It remained so throughout the afternoon, to the extent that a friend who otherwise invariably prefers to sit in the hot sunshine forward of the very front row of Rit’s chairs chose, in the absence of direct sunshine, to come to the back row instead and sit with me.

It wasn’t necessarily the best time. Having already finished two very good thrillers – my usual beach reading – in the shape of Henry Porter’s White hot silence and Shadow by James Swallow (in a significant Freudian slip there, I almost wrote of a volume called Swallow by James Shadow) – I’m now in the early stages of something that sounds on the heavy side but is, in fact, full of juicy revelations that are sometimes hilariously funny, especially to us non-religious types. It’s the recently-published Fréderic Martel’s In the closet of the Vatican: power, homosexuality, hypocrisy and I was just giggling my way through the author’s detailed descriptions of the camply over-the-top dress sense of one particular cardinal (who, it seems, in spite of his rampant publicly-expressed homophobia, insists on being referred to by his staff as “she”) when my bored friend sat down next to me.

I had, perforce, to put aside my frustration at having to abandon outrageous tales of clerical tristes with north African and Romanian rent boys, Swiss guards (don’t you just love the uniforms?) and, it seems at times, just about anyone with both a cock and a detectable pulse (though I imagine, on considered refection, that the cock needs in all probability to be detectable too). I then joined him in reminiscing about past times at Dongtan. As a relative newbie of no more than a dozen years’ worth of visits as opposed to my own 26, my friend was interested – or, having disturbed my reading, at least had the good grace to pretend to be so – in hearing how the beach has changed since the early 1990s.

Even physically, the changes – most dramatically effected in the middle and late 1990s – have been pretty immense. What little paving there was at the back of the beach was then sporadic and, when it existed at all, in a horrendously unmaintained state. Alongside it ran not the virtually continuous run of hotels, shops and condos to be seen today (though some were already there) but a wire chain-link fence. That - rather bizarrely when you consider the matter logically - was evidently considered by the beach boys to offer a modicum of privacy when they used it, in the absence of other facilities, to pee against or, more accurately I guess, to pee through.

Between the walkway/stumbleway and the beach were, of course, the areas to sit. Rit was already there in 1993, having just gone into the business after, so I have always understood, marrying Mrs Rit who had been the daughter and heiress of the previous concessionaire. Rit always tells me that I am his senior surviving customer from that era (he keeps and occasionally produces a flattering photograph that I took of him in the early 1990s), so – unless he says the same thing to anyone else – I think I’m pretty sound on the chronology. While the management may have been the same back then, the physical arrangements certainly weren’t. There were deckchairs rather than the current loungers and they were not placed necessarily in the regimented lines we see today. There was also more space between the rows to allow your new acquaintances to sit and talk. Meanwhile, instead of the individual beach parasols that we see now, there were large thatched umbrellas made of some natural type of straw (rejoice, St Greta of Thunberg!) that were, as a result, set up permanently and didn’t need to be taken down at the end of each day. Unfortunately, I think they may also have provided accommodation for mosquitos and the like – which probably explains why they were replaced in the mid or later 1990s. There were, moreover, far more trees along the beach than there are now, so it was an altogether shadier place.

Mentioning shade, it was, I think, Somerset Maugham who neatly described Monte Carlo as “a sunny place for shady people” – and in those days the same could, to an extent, be said of Dongtan. Skirting cautiously around a topic that’s rightly considered best avoided on this board, let’s just say that the average age of those on the beach was far lower than it is today (though that, I suppose, wouldn’t be difficult) and that whereas today’s beachgoers usually pack a towel, an iPad and a book for the day, 25 years ago some eccentric gentlemen instead arrived equipped with a comprehensive selection of plastic toys – or even primitive electronic games - from the market at Pattaya Tai.

The sand was certainly somewhat dirtier in those days. At a time when far more people – and especially those of ex-pat years - smoked, it was full of discarded cigarette butts. In front of the chairs was, of course, the sea – and even that has changed over the years. The wiser of us still steer clear, I think, of taking a dip. Sin City’s sewerage arrangements are too opaque to make doing otherwise worth a gamble. In the 1990s, however, despite, presumably, lower numbers of native and visiting defecators, matters were far worse. Toilet paper and, indeed, turds might be encountered floating near the edge of the water and I think that regulations about what else could be dumped in the sea must have been far laxer. Certainly, on one memorable occasion, the waters off Dongtan beach were an utterly lurid dayglo green and, I know for a fact, that someone who dipped a leg into the water – or, rather, the chemical mix - quickly came out in a nasty rash.

During all those fond and distinctively less fond reminiscences, the afternoon on the beach went its usual way. Fuk (sadly capless – doesn’t he ever read these reports?) and Chit carried out their duties with nonchalant aplomb, the manicurists manicured, the DVD sellers sold, the ice cream boy creamed (no, sad to say, he didn’t actually) and Mrs Rit sat. The toilet block remains resolutely unattended for now, but I’ve since had a good look at that honesty box and can see that its wise custodian has screwed it into the table with a couple of hefty bolts. So much for honesty Pattaya-style!

On the topic of honesty, make of this what you will. In the evening a friend, my husband and I ate at L’Olivier in Jomtien Complex. Two of us had the set meal option and one chose a la carte. As usual, the food was fine and I had no hesitation in paying the bill at the end. My husband is, though, you will recall, a consummate bargainer and also, as someone in the finance industry, generally pretty canny about cash. Thinking the bill a little on the high side he checked it through, only to find that we had been charged for the a la carte option and three set meals (the set meal option on the printed bill took up just a short line and was easy to miss). On querying the matter, profuse apologies were offered and the overpayment returned. Such an incident does, though, inevitably leave a somewhat sour taste in the mouth, even when the food hasn’t.

Having not been to Sunnee for a few days, we took a songthaew to Nice Boys where all the usual suspects were to be found on stage in various states of undress. It’s comparatively rare, I think, to see boys offed from that particular bar – the patrons prefer any action to be of the immediate and on-the-premises sort - but two of the Nice Boys were taken away in quick succession. Meanwhile, in a more traditional display, a farang vigorously demonstrated how he might light a fire by rubbing two sticks together, though with no actual sticks to hand he had to use suitable alternatives. It restored one’s faith in human nature to see how, once the demonstration had been completed, he carefully ripped some sheets from a convenient toilet roll to wipe the strangely-creamy-coloured sweat from his overheated young companion’s chest. Other interesting patrons included a Chinese (?) fellow who ordered a bottle of whisky and then knocked the whole thing back on his own quicker than I’ve ever seen anyone do it before (and well within the time that it took those - two “sticks” to ignite) and a bemused Thai (?) woman who appeared to take so little interest in the boys’ appendages (isn’t that why all of us were there?) that she might as well have been attending a meeting of the Pattaya Women’s Institute (which, given the number of kathoeys to be found in town, might be a fun experience).

Leaving the Nice Boys to go on being nice to the few patrons who were left by then, we retired for a final drink at Sun Bar, Jomtien, from where we were able to observe the performance by a large farang drag queen in the bar across the road. Raising laughs for, I fear, all the wrong reasons, the poor dear murdered her way through her repertoire of greatest hits. As my long-suffering husband observed, given her enormously and presumably-artificially enhanced embonpoint, it was more a case of hits with tits. Six young Thai boys were spontaneously (?) plucked from the audience and, stripped to the waist, acted as a cute group of backing dancers. Thankfully, they managed to keep straight faces when Madame fell down the steps, broke one of her high heeled shoes and was forced to perform the rest of her songs barefoot.

Bed was, after all that excitement, a very welcome distraction.

[Manforallseasons]

Marsilius wrote “ Having not been to Sunnee for a few days, we took a songthaew to Nice Boys where all the usual suspects were to be found on stage in various states of undress. It’s comparatively rare, I think, to see boys offed from that particular bar ”(Quote)

The last boy I offed from NB whom I’ve offed before told me the only boys that are offed are those that are new which has become almost zero, having said that I remember I was there 3 years ago New Years Eve and the only thing relatively new are the recovered sofas!

[gerefan2]

I was there 3 years ago New Years Eve and the only thing relatively new are the recovered sofas!

I was in there the same night as Marsilius, which was the first time for ages, and also saw those god awful “recovered sofas”. That’s being polite.

It looked as if someone had been to B and Q and bought a job lot of look alike Zebra skins and retuned to the bar and covered everything in sight, including all the small drink tables, with the damn stuff.

Talk about calling customers “keeneeow”

[frequent]

The sand was certainly somewhat dirtier in those days. At a time when far more people – and especially those of ex-pat years - smoked, it was full of discarded cigarette butts. In front of the chairs was, of course, the sea – and even that has changed over the years. The wiser of us still steer clear, I think, of taking a dip. Sin City’s sewerage arrangements are too opaque to make doing otherwise worth a gamble. In the 1990s, however, despite, presumably, lower numbers of native and visiting defecators, matters were far worse. Toilet paper and, indeed, turds might be encountered floating near the edge of the water and I think that regulations about what else could be dumped in the sea must have been far laxer. Certainly, on one memorable occasion, the waters off Dongtan beach were an utterly lurid dayglo green and, I know for a fact, that someone who dipped a leg into the water – or, rather, the chemical mix - quickly came out in a nasty rash.For those of us who deliberately avoid Pattaya your description makes it sound as though we've made the right decision - despite the best efforts of Pattayaphile illuminati such as arsenal with his mouth-watering reviews of local eateries. My preference would be for those who gambol in the waves rather than gamble amongst the sewerage, but it sounds as though a condo swimming pool would be more apposite for that

[arsenal]

Still loving the daily reportage Marsilius although for me a tad stingy on the photos. They are after all, worth 1000 words. Same goes for gerefan2 and Dinagam. Get the cameras out guys.

I'm delighted also that all of you seem to be having a great time as it sometimes feels like I'm the only one who sucks Paytaya dry from the fun fountain.

I haven't been in the sea for years. Not, because of any issues with pollution; but because the beach is simply boring these days compared to what it was and besides, my hotel has a rooftop pool that is usually deserted and so is virtually mine alone.

[Marsilius]

Sunday 29 December

For reasons to be made clear later, this will be the last of my reports from Sodom-juxta-Mare this year, though I hope that, material allowing, they will resume publication after 2 January.

We began the third Sunday of my holiday by breakfasting once again at Casa Pascal. Once again, it was full of customers taking advantage of the great-value all-you-can-eat-and-drink option. It’s also an opportunity, of course, for the restaurant to use up uneaten items that had been on the dinner menu the night before so, if you so choose, you can find yourself consuming not just cornflakes, eggs, bacon and all the rest but a range of other items - from chef Pascal’s latest haute cuisine creations in rich French sauces to a selection of delicate little petit fours.

By 10.50 am we had finished and were ready to embark on a shopping expedition to Central Festival Shopping Mall. It’s a regular place of pilgrimage for my husband and I, even though he has to restrain his automatically-generated impulse to make a 75% lower counter-offer when asked for payment in the likes of M&S. Our favourites are the clothes shops. Sores such as Uniqlo and H&M frequently offer farang-sized items, ranging in design from the neatly conventional to the attractively wacky, at supposedly heavily discounted prices. Many other outlets are, if less extensive in their stock, equally likely to have something interesting on display – though at prices that don’t usually match those of the big chains.

In previous years it’s not been unheard of for my husband to buy, say, six new shirts, three pairs of trousers and numberless pairs of shorts on a single shopping expedition that he’ll treat more in the way of a Blitzkrieg style military campaign. Today, however, produced something rather more meagre in the way of spoils of war – just a couple of shirts. Two significant things seem to have happened in the past 12 months. On the one hand the fall in the value of the pound sterling, in parallel with, so I’m told, an increase in that of the baht, has reduced the competitiveness of Thai retail prices. On the other, the range of attractive designs (a quite subjective term in this context, I know) seems to have been cut back. There just weren’t many items on sale this year that my husband wanted to buy. As the poor bloody infantryman who has to carry all the bags while he scours the racks and shelves with the gimlet eye of Feldmarschall Rommel, I wasn’t, I confess, too disappointed. I wonder, however, whether Thai clothing retailers are starting to refocus their design and marketing strategies away from the tastes of westerners and more towards those of, let’s assume, the 10 million or so Chinese visitors – almost 10 times the number coming from the highest ranked western nation - who are reckoned to have visited Thailand in the first 11 months of this year (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tourism_in_Thailand).

We walked back along Beach Road to catch a Jomtien-bound songtaew from the bottom of Pattaya Tai, giving us a prolonged opportunity on the way to see how, just as I detailed yesterday in the case of Dongtan beach, the main Pattaya beach area has also been spruced up in recent years. It’s not an area of sand that’s ever attracted me – quite apart from the proximity of endless heavy traffic, there aren’t the obvious and frequently attractive extras that you can find on the gay beach. It’s nonetheless undeniable that huge investment’s been made in improving the look of the south Pattaya beachfront. In particular, a “nourishment” project his successfully and quite dramatically increased the front-to-back depth of the sandy area so that it now has a more justifiable claim to the "beach" designation (there’s some interesting background to the story here https://www.bangkokpost.com/thailand/general/1417754/pattayas-receding-shoreline-to-receive-extra-sand).

By now, you’ll be familiar with the beach at Dongtan and all its regular characters - who does what, who doesn’t do what, and the like - so I won’t bore you with yet another repetition. I will, though, this time insert a couple of justified plugs. Firstly, I had a great pedicure from one of the senior ladies, # 72, and would happily recommend her painstaking and professional services to anyone with nails requiring a neat trim (what on earth is the point of toenails???) or an aging foot in need of a bit of TLC. Secondly, if you’re an ice cream fan – and aren’t just buying the odd choc-ice as a sly means of getting inside its seller’s pants – do try the salted caramel flavoured Magnum. I’ve never seen that variety on sale in the UK (maybe it’s specially made here for those 10 million Chinese visitors?) but it is absolutely delicious, even though, as with all ice creams in the hot Thai sunshine, you’ll never finish eating it before it begins melting all over you.

In the evening we ate at Magg’s Restaurant in Thepprasit Road. My husband thought the lab gai and the Thai green curry were the best he’d had so far this holiday. I, on the other hand, fancied farang food and enjoyed a generous and tasty plate of mixed grill that proved impossible to finish.

After the meal we caught a bus to Boyztown. Our first stop was at Cupidol. That has changed quite a bit, I think, in the past few years. We had first been introduced to it when one of the Dongtan beach manicurists told us that she was now also working at a bar and had invited us to try it out. It turned out to be Cupidol, an establishment that, at that time, appeared to specialise in boys from the more feminine end of the spectrum. Tonight, though, it was very different, with a far greater mixture of physical types. In fact, one of the dancers there - # 12, with the facial characteristics of someone from southern Thailand rather than from Isaan or the north – was rated by all our party as possessing one of the most attractively developed physiques of all the boys we had encountered so far on this holiday. The interior of Cupidol was attractively arranged and they’ve installed a very effective aircon unit. While we were there, about a dozen boys were entertaining roughly the same number of customers. In passing, it was also good to renew our acquaintance with one of its mamasans - a rare paragon of the profession - whom we’d known previously from Sunnee Plaza and, even further back, from the time when she ran an attractively modernistic bar in the same Bangkok soi as Nature Boys (sorry, but I don’t recall the name of either the bar or the soi).

From Cupidol, we moved on to Dreamboys in the hope that, like X Boys over the road, it might have a 10 pm show. From the design of a signboard outside, it looks like there used to be two shows nightly but now there’s just a blank space where the first had been listed and all that remains is a single performance, at 11.30 pm, of Thailand’s unique take on Sunday night at the London Palladium. We were all too tired, we decided, to wait for that but nevertheless (and entirely for the purpose of researching this report, you'll understand) went inside to enjoy a drink while checking out the boys on offer. The bar itself was well air-conditioned and, we all thought, a pleasant enough place to spend an hour or so engaged in minutely detailed observation of some attractive young men’s well-filled tighty-whities. There were maybe 12-15 go-go dancers on duty in the bar, with rather fewer customers. While all of the dancers were at the very least reasonably good-looking, none of them were enough to persuade any of our group to venture an off.

At 11.15 pm or so, we retired once again to Jomtien and even the detonation, an hour later, of loud firecrackers in the street outside did little more than rouse us very temporarily from the land of nod.

[Note: tomorrow, Monday 30 December I shall be travelling to Rayong where I will be spending a few days over the New Year at the Marriott Resort & Spa. I shall return to Jomtien – and resume normal broadcasting – on Thursday 2 January, although if, of course, I find anything worthy of note in Rayong, you will be the first to hear of it, here and exclusively, in a supplementary special report.]

[luvcbhn]

Great read, Marsilius.

Maybe fuk is Vietnamese. Phuoc (a very common name) is often pronounced as "fuk."

If Fuk is Vietnamese, his name could easily be Phác (the nearest homonym in Vietnamese for F*ck) or Phúc.

[Marsilius]

If Fuk is Vietnamese...

Hello luvcbhn (not sure how to pronouce that!)

On behalf of everyone else, let me welcome you to the board.

I promise that, on my return to Jomtien, I will ask young Fuk where the fuk he comes from.

[snotface]

I promise that, on my return to Jomtien, I will ask young Fuk where the fuk he comes from.

Reminds me of the one about the Fukawi tribe, so named because of their habit of wandering through the tall grasses of their African savannah homeland saying 'we're the Fukawi, we're the Fukawi'.

[Marsilius]

As we aging folk like to observe as we sink into our dotage on the chairs at Dongtan, the old ones are the best ones.

[Marsilius]

30 December 2019 – 1 January 2020

My only previous experience of Rayong occurred more than 20 years ago in, I think, either 1994 or 1995.

The first place that I stayed regularly in Thailand, after making my initial visit in 1993, was Mr Mac’s Hotel on Thappraya Road. Though they may not know its name, most songtaew users will know Thappraya as the long, straight uphill/downhill road that comprises most of the South-Pattaya-to-Jomtien route. Mr Mac’s hotel was – and still is – to be found coming up fairly early on the left-hand side as you head out to Jomtien, just past the Captain’s Corner outdoor barbecue site.

The reason for staying at Mr Mac’s had nothing whatsoever to do with the place itself. That, quite frankly, was, at least in those days, something of a bargain basement option without the bit about the bargain. The place’s attraction actually lay in the fact that it had a top floor and roof garden area that were leased to the Sky Bar. Though long since disappeared from the scene, in those days the bar was a well-known gay go-go joint. One notable point was that its customer base was perhaps slightly younger than usual, if only because, with no available elevator, patrons were required to climb four flights of stairs before they reached it. Rumour had it that not only had several heart attacks been thereby induced, but that the number of casualties in the Great Zimmer Frame Disaster of 1991 had been wildly downplayed in order to avoid a scandal of international dimensions.

The owner of Sky Bar in those days was Ken, a genial Ulsterman who had proved an invaluable source of information and local knowledge during my first trip. He was a natural people-person who operated a well-run ship and had recruited a team of very handsome boys. The star of his show, a certain Ya, so enraptured me at the time that I allowed him to inveigle me into making a trip to meet his family who lived in a small and isolated village to the north of Bangkok. That was the only time in my 26 years of Thailand visits that I’ve ventured on what I now think of as a Meet the Fokkers experience that was quickly to live up to – or even surpass - every cliché of the genre. Not only did I encounter, during that memorably bizarre week, the grasping grandmama of immortal legend, but in the end I only extricated myself from, it appeared, imminent forced marriage to the aforesaid Ya by offering a level of compensatory payment sufficient to address the medical needs of the notoriously infirm family buffalo.

Anyway, in, as I say, 1994 or 1995, Ken decided, somewhat quixotically given that it certainly wasn’t low season, that he was going to close his bar for a week and take his boys and some of their friends on a mini-break. Regular Sky Bar patrons (including, I recall, Frank who was mentioned in the thread The good old days as the subsequent founder of the South Pattaya bar Star Boys Boys [did he have a stutter?] and is, it seems, still thriving in the City of Sin) were invited along, with each expected to pay for the transportation, keep and pocket money of his favoured Ganymede in return for enjoying the boy’s company and expert ministrations for the week. While I dithered over my choice – which would, by that stage, certainly not have included my by now ex-fiancée Ya – all the better-looking boys were snapped up. At the end of the process, seven were left unallocated and, in what I can only now imagine to have been a moment of inebriated madness, I agreed to sponsor the lot of them. Perhaps it was simply the element of numerical coincidence that seduced me. After all, if Hollywood could make a movie called Seven brides for seven brothers, how could I possibly resist the seemingly-preordained prospect of Seven boys for seven nights?

The destination of the mini-break was the island of Ko Samet (for more information see here https://www.tripsavvy.com/koh-samet-thailand-4080796) which is how I came, in the mid-1990s to catch my first glimpse – whenever I could momentarily afford take my eyes off my seven rather mischievous charges – of Rayong, the small port from which a ferry transports you to - ... Well, let’s just say that, if, 20-odd years ago, it didn’t necessarily turn out to be the promised paradise, it was still in many ways the location for a week’s trip that remains utterly memorable, if not necessarily for all the right reasons.

Coming back now to the present day, a 1½ hours taxi ride from Jomtien took us to Rayong, but this time we didn’t take the turning off to the ferry port but continued through the town and out the other side. Taking a subsequent side road towards the sea, we began encountering some modern developments aimed at the tourist market. The hotel we’d booked for New Year was a relatively small 4* getaway that was exactly what we’d been looking for to offer a brief change of scenery mid-way through our holiday. The Rayong Marriott Resort & Spa delivers, I’d say, exactly what’s promised by its entirely-functional name, though, on that very same basis, it might have been fun to investigate the erotic experiences hinted at by its neighbouring property the Novotel Rayong Rim Pae Resort.

We have spent two nights here so far, with just one more to go before we return to Pattaya/Jomtien tomorrow (2 January) and have enjoyed the relaxation which we sought. We had chosen a cleverly designed and spacious “mountain view” room – i.e. one on the rear side of the hotel without a direct view of the sea. Actually, however, it has proved to be the better choice. Most importantly, it does not have hot sunshine pouring in through its windows all day (I notice, meanwhile, that the direct sunlight forces many of the residents of sun-facing sea-view rooms to keep their blinds permanently drawn – thereby rather missing the point). At the same time, the view our room offers of heavily wooded hills set in parched brown earth and running as far as the eye can see is far more quintessentially and pleasingly Thai than a one of a beach and seascape that could equally well be Caribbean or even Mediterranean.

The guests here are mainly Thais or other Asian people and the menus reflect that bias. That suits my husband down to the ground but even I, with far more conservative taste buds than his, have no problem finding good things to eat. The dominance of the Asian clientele was also demonstrated at last night’s New Year celebration – a lavish buffet with a show in the hotel grounds. You’d perhaps have imagined that the staff of an international hotel chain might use the world’s main international language – English – to communicate in such a situation, but in fact most of the time the show’s engaging host was speaking Thai across the PA system. A flexible and very sensible solution in the circumstances, if still something of a surprise. Mind you, when I read the following printed note that was enclosed with a New Years gift of a pack of dried fruit and approved for publication as an officially endorsed piece of Marriott-ese – presumably by a company proof-reader entirely carried away by the festive spirit - I perhaps began to see the wisdom of eschewing the Rayong version of the English language: “Kluay-Sam-Nam: These dried honey bananas made from bananas that grow on the ground are have 3 types of water, fresh water, salt water and brackish water at Baan Talay Noi, Rayong. The ground where made Rayong to be unique of abundantly ground. Hence the taste is sweet and mellow, has many high essential nutrients more than usual. And you will also found an amazing thing, these bananas was not have any single seed inside. Let’s try it!”

Enough for now, though. I need to devote myself entirely to enjoying my last full day at the Rayong Marriott where, in the regrettable absence of the promised rimming taking place next door, I will enjoy a day basking at the poolside. I need, after all, to recharge my batteries before returning tomorrow to the hard, unremitting 24/7 slog of the extraordinary life to be enjoyed – or by others, perhaps, endured - in dear old Sodom-by-the-Sea.

[Keith]

Re th comment about the fukawi tribe, this is a shaggy dog story that can go on forv10 mins, and ends, 'where the fukawi'

[frequent]

Re th comment about the fukawi tribe, this is a shaggy dog story that can go on forv10 mins, and ends, 'where the fukawi'Or, as snotface has already pointed out several posts ago, "We're the fuckawi"

[Oliver2]

It is included in the rugby song which also celebrates the "omigooli bird" , so named because its nests are built on stony ground which makes landing painful.

[Keith]

My point was that it only makes sense if you end 'where the fukawi?' The tribe, who are short, end up, after 15 mins of irrelevant chat, in the long grass. The phrase is the punchline. When twinks by an expert, such as a friend of mine, I have heard it go on 15 minutes!

[christianpfc]

Great reports! A pleasure to read.


An enjoyable report and it confirms that I'm not the only falang who finds guys who were recently monks irresistible. So thanks for that too.

I prefer short hair over long hair. Completely shaven is a bit too short. If the boy was a monk or an inmate before is irrelevant.


Rit's concession waiters name is Fluk not Fuk, is related to Rit, str8 and been working there for many months.

In Thai, the name is spelled Fluk, but pronounced Fuk. The L is a silent letter.

[Marsilius]

In accordance with my promise, today I asked Fuk/Fluk/we're-the-fukawi where he comes from. He is, it seems, Pattaya born and bred and resides in central Pattaya.

[Keith]

There is also the shaggy dog story about an animal called the rary. Again 15 minutes of shaggy dog stuff till you end up at a cliff and the punchline is ' it's a long way to tip a rary.. '

[christianpfc]

And about names: the guy you think is BON most likely is called translated from Thai as BALL. Bon is not a Thai name at all (it means UP), ball is and the Thai tendency to be unable to speak a final S after a word als makes any final L being turned into N. Its a high rising tone. And he most likely got it as a teen while he liked to play-
football then of course.

More on Thai names: December (?) in Super A, I asked for a boy Ball, but got a boy Pond (who was as cute as Ball, so no loss). That was because my pronunciation was not clear. BALL is pronounced BON (one L is silent, the other is pronounced as N), and POND is pronounced as PON (the D is silent), so the only difference is B and P, and phonetically P is an aspirated B.

Thai has many letters that are pronounced differently at the end of syllable than at the beginning, and silent letters.

[Jellybean]

In accordance with my promise, today I asked Fuk/Fluk/we're-the-fukawi where he comes from. He is, it seems, Pattaya born and bred and resides in central Pattaya.

The discussion around the pronunciation of fluk/fuk reminds me of the name of the first gay bar I visited in Hua Hin. It was called, fák-tong*, which my fa-ràng friends consistently and good humouredly mispronounced. I suspect the owner of the bar deliberately chose the name to amuse his foreign customers.

And, I kid you not, the first lad from the bar that I off’d and had my first ever on-the-meter mini-relationship with was called tong. ;)


*The word in Thai means pumpkin.

[BOY69]

More on Thai names: December (?) in Super A, I asked for a boy Ball, but got a boy Pond (who was as cute as Ball, so no loss). That was because my pronunciation was not clear. BALL is pronounced BON (one L is silent, the other is pronounced as N), and POND is pronounced as PON (the D is silent), so the only difference is B and P, and phonetically P is an aspirated B.

Thai has many letters that are pronounced differently at the end of syllable than at the beginning, and silent letters.

This is why as much as I try I will never be able to speak Thai properly.

[frequent]

This is why as much as I try I will never be able to speak Thai properly.Ask a Thai how to pronounce banana in Thai - to our ears it sounds almost exactly the same as the pronunciation for "penis" in Thai. There are other, ruder Thai homonymns too, much too unsuitable for a politically correct (according to lonelywombat) Forum such as this. Just one example according to a Thai friend - "Korean" is a homonym for "itchy cunt" in some circles (see, I told you it would be unsuitable)

[christianpfc]

This is why as much as I try I will never be able to speak Thai properly.
Thai is a phonetic language. From the written word, there is only one pronunciation (the exceptions are so few, only worth a footnote). The key to speaking Thai lies in being able to read Thai.

Unlike English and Chinese, where the pronunciation has to be learnt for every word. Or the gender of German, French, Russian words (there are rules, but many exceptions).

[Captain Swing]

My last off in Pattaya spoke almost no English, but I was sure he told me his name was "Bon." A waiter confirmed it, and told me it meant "apple." What was I mis-hearing?

[Marsilius]

Thursday 2 January 2020

We left Rayong at 10 am, thereby hoping to get in some afternoon time on Dongtan beach.

As, however, we checked out of the hotel, a somewhat surprising incident occurred. In general, our stay at the Rayong Marriott had exhibited the characteristics that you’d expect from a place operated by huge multi-national business. Just as the menu’s headlined burger was a standardised “Marriott burger”, concocted, no doubt, at Marriott HQ so that you’ll know exactly what to expect, down to the last tomato slice, whether you’re in Santiago, Sydney, Salzburg or Siem Reap, I’d expected to find similarly standardised products and procedures throughout the rest of the hotel. Not so, however, when it came to check-out. Sure enough, with a few clicks of the receptionist’s mouse the computer logged in to the company database, whirred and whizzed impressively and produced an authoritative looking final invoice. Attentive readers will, however, know by now what to expect next. My husband – he who can spot errors on bills as keenly as others spot new arrivals in town from the Isaan bus – went through it and found that we had been overcharged by 4,000 baht. Not to be outdone and eager to demonstrate that after more than 32 years studying husband’s methods I’d learned something from him, I then double-checked the bill and found another 300 baht that had been wrongly charged to our account.

What, I think, happened was that the hotel’s “system” (a useful bit of business-speak that shifts blame from human operators to inanimate software that, no matter how much you’d like to, you can’t actually berate to its face) could not cope with us. We, you see, had opted for a full-board option during our stay, while everyone else, it seems, had opted for half-board. As a result, the billing software’s default option seemed to be to charge us for lunch every day even though we’d selected a package that already included it in the price. Morals of the story: (1) check your final bill!, (2) keep a scribbled note as you go along of the extras that you do actually rack up (in our case, drinks from the bar or with food), (3) take the e-mail trail from the original booking along with you – the 300 baht difference that I’d spotted, for instance, was a discrepancy between the originally quoted and confirmed overall price for accommodation and the final one billed at checkout time, and (4) don’t assume that, just because a place is part of a worldwide chain with, you’d imagine, state-of-the-art computerised accounting systems, mistakes can’t be made.

At the we’ve-got-you-over-a-barrel price of 2,200 baht, almost twice the cost of the original Jomtien-Rayong journey, the Rayong Marriott provided us with a very comfortable car and a pleasant driver for our return journey. It was noticeable, however, that this was the first taxi journey so far on this holiday where SatNav wasn’t used. Every other taxi we’d used so far had asked in advance for destination addresses and then deposited us at the very door of Pullman G, East Suites or wherever with the greatest of ease and without, moreover, any particular need to wake us from pleasant dozes to ask the Thai equivalent of where-the-fuck-are-we? (What could have put that particular phrase into my head?) Not so this time.

Apart from my husband, our luggage and a renewed sense of cynicism about computerised “systems”, I’d unexpectedly brought back something else back from Rayong. Your immediate guess as to what that particular import might have been will depend, I think, on your innate disposition. If you’re a cheery, glass-half-full type of chap, you’ll probably be thinking “the lucky sod brought back the hotel pool boy”. If, on the other hand, your one of those types sadly infected by the cynicism that sometimes infects this board, you’re probably chuckling that “the old fool’s brought back a dose of crabs”. It was, however, neither. What I’d brought back was a bad case of sunburn.

My very occasional experiences of sunburn in Thailand invariably make me appreciate Dongtan beach – or, at least, Rit’s concession - all the more. Whether it was the original straw thatch canopy or the fabric umbrellas that superseded it more than 20 years ago, Rit’s awnings have remained sufficiently opaque as to prevent any danger of my milky-white skin becoming any more than slightly coloured. The trouble is, though, that complacency then leads you into a false sense of security elsewhere. On my last trip to Patong beach in Phuket, for example, I only discovered that the umbrellas cut out far fewer of the sun’s rays than Rit’s when, after just an hour or two, I found my skin in some distress. On my most recent diversion, meanwhile, in the absence of umbrellas on the hotel beach at Rayong, I’d parked myself under the shade of a tree, only to once again find that I was quite quickly burning up. After just a couple of hours exposure there, I now find myself with skin that looks like it’s been plastered with just a first – and, at that, an unevenly applied - coat of Dulux’s Thai magic paint.

On the subject of the problems caused by excessive exposure to the sun, while I was absent over the New Year a coup d'état of some sort appears to have occurred in Rit’s front row of chairs at Dongtan beach. We're not at this stage, I think, looking at an incident on the notorious scale of the Great Zimmer Frame Disaster of 1991 which dominated the front page of the Pattaya Mail (not to mention its obituaries page) for many weeks at that time - but seemingly small events can, over time, acquire legendary status and, if that turns out to so on this occasion, just remember that you read about it here first. Tension has, I’ve been told, been brewing for a while between two rival factions on the front row of Rit's chairs. Somewhat like the Big-endians and Little-endians of Swift’s Gulliver’s travels, whose homicidal disagreements centred on which was the better end of a boiled egg to crack open and eat from (https://www.ling.upenn.edu/courses/Spring_2003/ling538/Lecnotes/ADfn1.htm), the competing Dongtan parties had elevated a seemingly minor question - should there be umbrellas in the front row? – into a major diplomatic incident. Since my arrival in mid-December, I’d noticed that more and more front-row patrons had been asking Fuk for a suitable erection (sorry, but we haven’t had any sort of joke for some time and that was the best I could come up with at short notice). The situation almost, I’m told, came to blows – or at least a case of handbags at dawn – after a German guy asked for an umbrella that would have impinged on a neighbouring Welshman’s sunshine. Anyway, while I was away the pro-umbrella brigade has won the battle and the only two sun worshippers who are still holding out have been banished to the social isolation of individual chairs placed right on the shoreline in front of everyone else where they can, no doubt, practise their impersonations of a improbably-suntanned King Canute.

After catching up on such exciting news, a late afternoon nap was definitely called for, before animated discussions ensued about where to eat dinner – a major preoccupation of us sybarites with more time on our hands than all Dongtan beach’s fake Rolexes put together. For a change, we opted for the Sandbar by the Sea restaurant on the beach. Disaster! Whether or not it just could not cope with the large number of customers, Sandbar gave us undoubtedly the worst eating experience of the holiday so far. The starters were distinctly mediocre – which, given that two out of three of them were simple soups, must be an achievement in itself. Thereafter, the main courses (delivered almost 45 minutes after we’d ordered them) comprised a Thai green curry that had minimal taste even when extra chilli flakes had been generously applied and which had been served and consumed before any other main courses had even got to the table; a pork chop that seemed to have hardly touched any heat source whatsoever and looked, in parts, so worryingly uncoloured that the aforementioned Dulux might, I imagine, have called it Salmonella pink; and a dish of pork spare ribs that, so our friend was informed after everything else had been served, was no longer available – “but can have tomorrow”!!! Unsurprisingly, he decided not to wait that long and to cancel his order entirely.

To give him at least a bite to eat, we popped into nearby Tinnies – not somewhere that any of us had tried before but I recalled that it’s enjoyed one or two positive references on this board. The hot takeaway meat and potato pie was certainly very hot indeed, so that my friend caused endless amusement to Thai bar boys as he rapidly kept swapping it from hand to hand to avoid third-degree injury (though, in this particular case, I guess, it’s less sun burn than bun burn).

Walking up Jomtien Complex’s main soi, we stopped at the final beer bar on the left-hand side where my friend wanted to renew acquaintance with a young Cambodian employee. The boy in question was something of a charmer, if with limited English skills, and we spent a pleasant enough hour or two people-watching from his bar. Meanwhile, an adjacent establishment provided its own form of entertainment in the unmistakable form of the singing, dancing and, indeed, falling-downstairs farang drag queen whom I have mentioned in a previous report. This time I took the trouble to find out the identity of this Dongtan diva – now performing shoeless a la Sandie Shaw after her previous unfortunate incident with her defective stiletto heels. She goes, it seems, under the stage name of Sandy Bottom (‘nuff said) and once more delivered a selection – if, it must be said, by very definition a short one - of her greatest hits.

I would have been quite prepared for Ms Bottom to belt out her version of Frank Sinatra’s My way. After all, it could hardly be denied that the poor dear really would have been doing it in her own utterly idiosyncratic and quite inimitable way. But instead she chose to deliver an immortal – and seemingly interminable – rendition of Louis Armstrong’s It's a wonderful world.

Little more than a few bars into that particular song, I had reached the conclusion that dear Sandy wasn’t necessarily the best possible – or even the most appropriate - advocate for such wonderfully life-affirming lyrics. Nonetheless, her delivery of the words – either dreamily vague or nightmarishly imprecise, depending on the amount you’ve had to drink by the time you hear it - did inspire me to check them out:

The colours of the rainbow,
So pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by.
I see friends shaking hands,
Saying “how do you do?”
They’re really saying
“I love you.”

“How do you do?” = “I love you”? Surely, that’s Pattaya-style love life to a T…

A thought to ponder at bedtime.

[gerefan2]

Interesting you found Sandbar to be bad. A gang of us booked into Johns in Jomtien complex and had an entirely forgettable dinner the other night.
The white wine was hot, so much so it needed ice. They forgot my friends soup. They told me there was no bacon to go with my liver and bacon. What they didn’t tell me was that they were going to forget my roast potatoes and when I asked where they were they said “no have” and replaced them with luke warm french fires. It didn’t matter as the liver was inedible and I left the whole meal anyway.
The red wine was the only acceptable thing in there ...

[Marsilius]

I too had a meal at John's earlier in the holiday. Even though it wasn't such an outright disaster as yours, it was, as you say, utterly forgettable.

[pong]

1.Ask a Thai how to pronounce banana in Thai - to our ears it sounds almost exactly the same as the pronunciation for
2."Korean" is a homonym for "itchy cunt" in some circles (see, I told you it would be unsuitable)

@1.more common is the always good for a laugh confusion with the Kway=buffalo, once a very loved for and utterly well-known animal working in th Isany ridefields.
@2. Korean+ kho-lee, a very populair dish is Moo kho-lee, or korean fired pork (with sauce and seasme ) on rice.

[pong]

Interesting you found Sandbar to be bad. A gang of us booked into Johns in Jomtien complex and had an entirely forgettable dinner the other night.
The white wine was hot, so much so it needed ice. They forgot my friends soup. They told me there was no bacon to go with my liver and bacon. What they didn’t tell me was that they were going to forget my roast potatoes and when I asked where they were they said “no have” and replaced them with luke warm french fires. It didn’t matter as the liver was inedible and I left the whole meal anyway.
The red wine was the only acceptable thing in there ...
No wonder then that simply using the Thai food is always the better option-quicker, cheaper and they know how to make it!
Interestingly from my PTY days of yonder I remember that farang were often not supposed to order Thai food-that was for the ladies (or well, ahum, guys) in tow. In BKK this is never ever a prob or issue.

[pong]

Great reports! A pleasure to read.
In Thai, the name is spelled Fluk, but pronounced Fuk. The L is a silent letter.

It could be FAK (as in reua kham fak=ferry, or boat go+Back), but that would be quite uncommon. LIke Ï do not come, but comeback!
Now reading this wonder of enterprise is Patters born+bred it might very well be that to please his customers in ease of remembering his name+attractions, his special Thai nickname for this occasion is well, yes, indeed, f-k fu-k.Would fit very well in how this big seaside resort is mostly descirbed in his utter eloquence of language by the revered and amusing writer of all tbis. Thai nicknames do not need to be used in all and every occasion-they may vary as for the purpose. Many barboys have thus diferent names for different things.

[frequent]

No wonder then that simply using the Thai food is always the better option-quicker, cheaper and they know how to make it!
Interestingly from my PTY days of yonder I remember that farang were often not supposed to order Thai food-that was for the ladies (or well, ahum, guys) in tow. In BKK this is never ever a prob or issue.I preferred to breakfast in more salubrious surroundings this morning
9424

[Marsilius]

And very fetching you look too, in that striped cream dress.

[Marsilius]

Friday 3 January 2020

An early breakfast at Casa Pascal offered its usual combination of good value and tasty food. On the value front, I had an interesting conversation with Pascal’s wife Kim in which she confirmed that the competitive pricing is designed to attract customers who wouldn’t otherwise ever think of eating at the place. The theory goes that if they enjoy breakfast there, they might go on to try an evening meal on a later occasion. In general terms too, for those interested in the question of how well this year’s “high” season has gone so far, she confirmed that Christmas/New Year has seen, at least at Casa Pascal, a notable increase in business over 2018/2019. That confirmed the impression that I had formed that, even if numbers of visitors are still nowhere near the peak years of the past, the tourists that are here seem more inclined to spend.

On the subject of spending, after breakfast my husband and I – as the dear old Queen might put it – crossed the roads for a little retail therapy in the Royal Garden mall. When we first visited Pattaya in 1993 the Royal Garden Hotel – since renamed as the Marriott and then, as currently, the Avani – was just being completed and a few parts still resembled a building site. I imagine that the attached shopping mall was also part of the same overall development and that it also dates from that period.

I have fond memories of the hotel, if only because it was the first place to which I took an offed boy. He was named Joy (I even still remember his full Thai name) and he was working at the nearby Gentleman Club. Oh, what fun we had in the Royal Garden – not just in bed but over several subsequent days as the hotel’s over-zealous security guard repeatedly pursued us along its corridors as I attempted to smuggle him in and out of the place. Joy, I think, genuinely fell in love with me and was later distraught to be ordered home to Phayao by his father who, it seemed, had been alerted to the fact that his son wasn’t really waiting tables in Pattaya at all. After that, we exchanged a few letters but, no doubt in the face of parental disapproval, contact eventually fizzled out. About a decade later, I had just returned to my room elsewhere with a boy whom I’d been seeing regularly for some years when there was a knock at the door. It was Joy. Now working in Pattaya once again – though not now in the sex industry – he’s spotted me on a songtaew, given chase and identified my hotel. Remembering my name after ten years, he convinced the receptionist to let him up. As you can imagine, the outcome was not a fairy-tale happy ending. Realising very quickly that I was with the other boy and that I had not waited for him in monastic celibacy for the past decade (had he, meanwhile, waited thus for me?), he fled the room in tears. I have never seen him again.

My memories of the Royal Garden shopping mall don’t, thankfully, stir up such bittersweet recollections. It is, though, a place that’s changed quite significantly in character over the years. With, in 1993, a rather more upmarket and eclectic selection of outlets and distinctive eye-catching features like the fountain of water jets that kept kids both endlessly amused and occasionally soaked, it was a go-to destination for sure. Nowadays, with all those pop-up stalls selling cheap’n’cheerful shirts and shorts, it’s come to resemble nothing so much as Mike’s Shopping Mall, though without the latter’s hiding-a-multitude-of-sins 40 watts lightbulbs. Today, though, wasn’t a day for browsing among the tacky stalls. My husband knew exactly what he wanted – some shirts in a range he’d bought on our last trip and which had subsequently proved a big hit – and so he made a bee-line for the store in question. I, meanwhile, bought myself an attractive red shirt. Supposedly it’s a Pierre Cardin creation, but I suspect that its origins derive less from Paris than Peking (please don’t bother picking me up on that: the neat alliteration simply doesn’t work with “Beijing”). Anyway, at 250 baht it was a steal – and the obliging saleslady even ironed it for me at no extra charge before popping it into the bag!

After shopping, it was back to Dongtan beach where yesterday’s musings on the subject of taxi travel prompted my mind to wander. Wandering is not a concept usually associated with my afternoons at the beach. I’m not, for instance, one of those Muscle Marys to be found jogging along the foreshore in an attempt to advertise my bulk to appropriately awed observers. In fact, any muscles I develop at Dongtan are confined to my right arm where they’re the result of lifting bottles of Chang beer to my lips. No, the only wandering in which I’m likely to be involved on the beach involves my hands and occurs whenever a good-looking passing masseur or ice cream salesman requires a thorough upper thigh inspection in order to assess his suitability for – and his susceptibility to - a later and more extensive full-body exam (I really ought to have been a doctor). With, however, a distinct shortage of eye-candy on display this afternoon (even the resident minor deity Fuk was absent), my mind, as I’ve said, began to wander onto – oh, how desperate I must have been! – the subject of transport. In mitigation, I ought to point out that, even though I know nothing at all about cars, at one point in my career I was employed for consecutive periods by both the RAC and the AA*, but, really, that’s no excuse. [*The Royal Automobile Club and its longtime rival the Automobile Association are the UK’s leading organisations offering a range of motoring services to their members.]

In spite, it occurred to me, of the significant increase in the number of vehicles – and still often big, gas-guzzling ones – on Thailand’s roads, the transport system has actually improved significantly, especially for tourists and specifically for those who are Pattaya-bound, in the past 30 years. My assumption would be that senior Thai government officials with responsibilities for transport, tourism and the economy have been following a general and pretty consistent strategy throughout that period, recognising that expanding tourism revenues necessitates making constant improvements to national – and targeted regional – infrastructure.

For us Pattayaphiles, the most significant development has been the phasing out of Don Muang as the primary national airport and its replacement, from 2006, by Suvarnabhumi. In spite of some initial hiccups (early users will recall an acutely uncomfortable shortage of lavatories, requiring the speedy placement of an order for dozens of temporary portaloos), the new airport has been, from our point of view, a huge success. Travelling in either direction between Don Muang and Pattaya was a logistical nightmare, given the unavoidable interaction with Bangkok metropolitan traffic en route. Journey times varied massively and unpredictably. If you wanted to be sure of getting to the airport on time, you really needed to allocate several extra hours in order to ensure a successful journey. Suvarnabhumi’s USP, on the other hand, is that for most of us it’s on the “right” – i.e. the near - side of Bangkok and so airport-to-or-from-Pattaya journeys are no longer subject to the vagaries of capital city traffic (except at weekends when Bangkokians frequently depart en masse for a seaside paddle).

Even before the opening of the new airport, however, there had been other positive developments, notably the creation of the fast Motorway 7 running from Bangkok, via Suvarnabhumi, to Pattaya. The transformation from conditions in 1993 – when our first taxi took us along more than a few dusty tracks with no proper surfacing whatsoever – to those of today has been quite dramatic. In recent years, the final stage of the journey into Pattaya itself has also been made easier by extensive local road improvement schemes. Given the volume of the city’s traffic, some delays will, I think, always be inevitable, but matters have certainly gone in the right direction.

In Pattaya itself, traffic management remains a work in progress. There have been successes – transforming Beach and Second Roads into a giant one way system certainly improved the general flow of traffic in South Pattaya – and failures such as the mysteriously pointless “overpass to nowhere” at the bottom of Thappraya Road and the introduction of a few pedestrian crossings throughout the city to which no-one pays any attention whatsoever. Pattaya is, nonetheless, far easier to travel around than it has been in past times, not least, let’s concede, because of the ubiquity of the competitively-priced songtaew system.

At that point in my beachside reverie, I was suddenly brought back to Dongtan reality by the sound of loud shouts from someone in the sea. No, it wasn’t the sighting of a floating turd – that would surely be such a commonly encountered phenomenon as to warrant little more than the sound of a supressed retch. What had annoyed this particular swimmer was, rather, the close approach of a speedboat. It was only at that point that I noticed that the old protective rope, positioned some way offshore so as to separate swimmers from crazily driven vessels, was no longer there. I’ve since been told that it was broken last summer and that it hasn’t since been replaced. Wasn’t there a fatal offshore swimmer/boat encounter not too long back? There’s surely another accident waiting to happen here and, if I were that swimmer today, I’d certainly be shouting out too, turds or no turds.

Staying on the beach, the Great Umbrella War of 2020 seems close to a final and definitive resolution. Umbrellas are now it seems a de rigueur feature of Rit’s front row. One of our remaining two King Canutes has retired gracefully from the fray and, after buying a final batch of 11 somewhat specialist DVDs from the young vendor, has abandoned the beach altogether. Courtiers in search of that particular “king over the water” may now find him enthroned on a lounger at the edge of the Zing Hotel pool.

After the beach and the usual nap, we decided to espouse the cause of virtuous living and so eschewed a big meal altogether. Not only that, but we gave the nightlife a miss too. Almost three weeks continuous exposure to honourable – or rather, pleasurably dishonourable – members has apparently numbed our sensibilities to the point of ennui.

Perhaps an early – well, 11 pm at any rate – bedtime will restore the libido. Or maybe it will just give us a good night’s sleep.

[christianpfc]

...very comfortable car and a pleasant driver for our return journey. It was noticeable, however, that this was the first taxi journey so far on this holiday where SatNav wasn’t used. Every other taxi we’d used so far had asked in advance for destination addresses and then deposited us at the very door of Pullman G, East Suites or wherever with the greatest of ease and without, moreover, any particular need to wake us from pleasant dozes to ask the Thai equivalent of where-the-fuck-are-we? (What could have put that particular phrase into my head?) Not so this time.

I met plenty of Thai boys who cannot send a location or use google maps. And recently (31dec2019 in Mae Sot) a taxi driver who does not use google maps (or other SatNav). And he didn't know the obscure temples I wanted to go to either! So instead of leaning back and letting him do the driving and googlemaps the navigation, I had to tell him directions!

You were lucky in those cases. I have been to places that are between A road and B road, with the entrance on A road, but the location on googlemaps closer to B road, so google maps will lead you to B road.

[gerefan2]

I’ve never yet seen a map in Thailand that is accurate.
They just can’t do them!

[sglad]

His name, it turns out, is Fuk.


ฟัก or fák is not an uncommon nickname. It means (a type of) squash or gourd.

For boys, it's Ai Fak (colloquial Thai) or Bak Fak (Isaan) when calling him or just Fak.

For girls, it becomes a bit fancier and fak can be part of her real name for eg Fak Leuang (big pumpkin), Fak Faeng (a type of winter melon).

I have a cute friend whom I take pleasure in calling Ai Fak youuu. And he always cheekily replies with a soft, seductive yesss.

PS Be very careful when using the prefix ai with Thai names as it can be derogatory in certain contexts. I only use it with buddies.

[Marsilius]

Fuk was working again this afternoon after a few days away. He has had a new and expensive-looking haircut and looks even nicer.

Unfortunately, his return put paid to my scheme to ask the boss whether Fuk was working today in the expectation that Rit might reply "No! Fuk off!"

PS That reminds me of two old jokes set in a Chinese restaurant. They are very non-PC, so read no further if that offends you. If you can cope, though, you'll need to put on a stereotypical "Chinese" voice for the waiter's character in order to make them work.

(1) Irate customer: "Waiter! This chicken is rubbery!"
Waiter: "Awww... Thank you velly much, sir."

(2) Waiter, at the end of the meal: "You for coffee?"
Irate customer: "No - you fuck-offee!"

[Apologies to any Chinese readers. Please don't send the tongs calling!]

[Mancs]

Chinese worker: "Me not come to work, me sick." Boss: "When I'm sick I have sex with my wife, try it." Chinese calls back: "It worked. Me better. You got nice house!"

[Marsilius]

Saturday 4, Sunday 5 and Monday 6 January 2020

[Apologies for the late posting of this report: all is explained below.]

Pattaya, as we all know from personal experience, offers, on a daily basis, many experiences that can only be described as uplifting. One of the most striking and inspiring of those is to be found not only at every time of day but in all sorts of places. Walk down any street or clamber onto any songtaew in the city and you will encounter example after example. I refer to the sight of an older farang, inspired in his declining years by a spirit of benevolent philanthropy and the desire to help less fortunate younger people on their way in the world, offering his life experience, his wisdom and occasionally, when necessary, his financial resources to help his new friend onto an easier path through the vicissitudes of life.

Truly, Pattaya is an inspiring place! One can only wonder why it is not held up more often as an exemplar of true humanitarian charity in the world. As I now know from my holiday reading The closet of the Vatican by Fréderic Martel, the city has been a frequent destination of several cardinals and other high prelates of the Roman Catholic church – though such fact-finding visits have, of course, been conducted in strict anonymity and great secrecy (and, no doubt, in painstaking thoroughness too) so as to allow the said clergy to obtain a completely unbiassed impression of what goes on here. No doubt, on the basis of their reports back to Rome, dear Pope Francis will soon be citing Pattaya as a role model for a more benevolent and caring society worldwide.

My thoughts on philanthropy and doing good to others have actually been inspired on this occasion by two people who have been regulars at Rit’s Dongtan beach concession for the past few weeks. One is a very old and very infirm farang who has the greatest difficulty in shuffling even a meter or two, while the other is a Thai young man of, I’m guessing, maybe 25 years of age. The latter may, for all I know, be the old man’s paid carer but, whatever the nature of the relationship, he sits alongside him day after day, attending to his every need – even taking him into the lavatory where, I imagine from the old guy’s incapacity, he may be required to carry out the most personal of tasks.

But my great admiration is not only confined to the younger of the two men. Recognition’s also due, I think, to the older man’s decision to carry on with life to the very end in the style that he enjoys. It’s a philosophy that I’ve always admired: life is better shorter-but-happy than longer-but-miserable.

Such intimations of mortality have arisen this weekend because I really haven’t been too well. In fact, I’ve been bloody sick. And it’s been only the latest in a series of episodes throughout the holiday that have served to remind me that I’m getting on a bit. In the first place, I arrived here carrying with me a heavy cold from the UK, so that for the past three weeks I’ve been coughing, spluttering and blowing enough crap out of my nose on a frequent basis to require East Suites’s cleaning team to put in jumbo orders for toilet rolls.

Secondly, after a few days here I suffered unexpected and completely unprecedented sharp pains in my right side. I can only imagine that it’s the sort of pain you feel when someone’s punched you in the ribs and broken one of them. The pain virtually incapacitated me for a good few hours of one day.

Unfortunately it, in turn, led to my third medical issue. I spent the first week of my stay here in the company of a doctor who’s a GP in Germany. Away from his surgery, he had no precise idea what the cause of the pain might be but he gave me some ibuprofen (two pills that were the sort of size you’d imagine giving to a horse) and a couple of other pills that he said would help me sleep while the painkillers kicked in. The “sleeping” pills were very odd in appearance – like very, very thin paper discs about 5 mm in diameter – and dissolved virtually immediately on the tongue. Did they work? I have no idea because I now have absolutely no recollection of anything I did during the subsequent 48 hours, including getting a cab to Bangkok, checking into the Pullman G hotel (for which I’d have had to sign in) and enjoying (if I did enjoy it, that is) dinner on my first night in the capital city. Fortunately, throughout this “missing” period I was accompanied by the German doctor himself and, latterly, by my husband who joined us in Bangkok and who tells me that, even though I may have been completely out of it, my behaviour appeared to be absolutely normal (let’s give him the benefit of the doubt on that one and assume that he was trying to be nice). Let me stress at once: I have full trust and confidence in the German doctor whom I have known for more than five years, met several times on holiday and even entertained at my home in the UK. But, all the same, I cannot explain what happened (and before anyone suggests it, I don’t think that I was slipped a “date rape” pill because I could certainly sit down comfortably afterwards).

My fourth medical issue arose on Saturday evening (4 January) after a friend, my husband and I had had dinner at the New India Restaurant on the main road as it approaches Jomtien beachfront. While the other two ordered – and heartily enjoyed - sizzling dishes of chicken shashlik, I ordered a lamb korma. It arrived only slightly warm and the sauce appeared murky grey in colour, rather than the anticipated vibrant yellow. I ate it and, within a few hours, was experiencing overnight diarrhoea and violent vomiting that continued all day Sunday and confined me to my room (as well as necessitating an augmented emergency order of the aforesaid East Suites toilet paper). When my husband described my symptoms to a Jomtien pharmacist, she prescribed a course of pills to tackle the vomiting and a parallel course to address the problem from, as it were, the other end. It did seem a little strange to me that having put the bug under siege from both directions, she didn’t then prescribe an antibiotic to attack it head on – but then, I’m not a doctor so what do I know? As it happens, I still felt very uncomfortable for the rest of Sunday (though the more obvious symptoms were stopped). By Monday morning I felt bloated but otherwise back to normal - i.e. coughing, spluttering, sneezing and nose blowing as before but restored to functionality at both ends of the digestive system – and spent the afternoon on the beach. In the evening, we had planned to go to the cinema on Second Road across from the Royal Garden mall but, having bought tickets in advance, with just 30 minutes to go my stomach started churning ominously. A quick dash to the Royal Garden branch of Boots revealed that its pharmacist had no knowledge of quick-acting Imodium “Instants” which dissolve on the tongue without the need for water and are sold in the UK. I therefore had to take a couple of standard Imodiums (or is it a Latin-like plural - “Imodia”?) before trotting off (sorry!) to the cinema, during which I had to make three unexpected and very sudden trips to the loo. It wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose, except that we were watching a whodunnit – Knives out starring Daniel Craig – and I thereby missed a few of the crucial clues that identified the killer. The original pre-sickness plan for the evening had been for a post-murder visit to Nice Boys – on the theory that exposure to such evidently, substantially and permanently perked-up young men might, in turn, perk me up - but, rather than inflicting my digestive problems on the boys and, more importantly, running the risk of being forced to take a seat in the bar’s toilet, I thought it best to return home.

Thus, a full 48 hours of indisposition has put paid to my hitherto unbroken sequence of daily reports – though I’m pretty certain that even my great predecessor John Evelyn had better things to do during the Great Plague of 1665 than keep absolutely bang up to date with his diary.

The lessons of the long weekend are, it seems to me: (1) do your best to avoid getting sick before you come here, as you can’t assume that the Thai climate will, on its own, get rid of an existing condition; (2) be cautious about taking unfamiliar medication that may be stronger than you think; (3) don’t eat food that doesn’t look right; (4) get thee to a Thai pharmacist – they’re often open at surprisingly late hours, have usually encountered similar medical issues before and, even if on this occasion I suspect they may have missed a trick by tackling merely the symptoms rather than the cause of the trouble, you should take their proffered advice as well as their pills.

Thankfully, this weekend never felt so bad that I needed a trip to a doctor or, indeed, hospital. On previous trips, however, I’ve had dealings with a couple of doctors, a dentist (I was paying for a Thai boy’s extraction but he chickened out at the last minute leaving himself in agony and me with the bill for the dentist’s wasted efforts and time) and a hospital (my husband’s ingrowing toenail prevented him walking around Bangkok: half a day’s examination and treatment and a bit of mini-surgery in high-tech surroundings from a doctor and two nurses at Bangkok Christian Hospital cost him about £15!) In all those circumstances I’ve been impressed with the professionalism of the Thai medical system – or, at least, the bits of it that we foreigners encounter – and its patient-responsive flexibility (which could, though, it might be argued, result from the fact that, while he’s paying for it directly over the counter, the customer will always be king).

[PS It goes without saying that - though I hope it never needs to be invoked - your travel insurance policy needs to provide comprehensive cover for medical emergencies.]

[christianpfc]

As my loyal reader vinapu (member on gayguides) says: It's very unhealthy to get sick!

I occasionally suffer the same problems. For sore throat, I drink ginger tea (buy ginger roots at the market and slice it). For running nose, Sulidine helps. For diarrhea, activated charcoal.

Being sick at home is just an inconvenience, you can continue to drag yourself to work or study and wait/sit it out, or get sick leave. But getting sick during a holiday is awful! Get well soon!

[Marsilius]

Tuesday 7 January 2020

With my medical issues yet to be fully resolved, my husband and I decided to forego breakfast entirely and instead start the day by making our first trip of the holiday to Pattaya Tai market. En route, however, we popped in to a pharmacy. Our combination of English and pidgin-Thai amateur medical-speak must have been confusing, however, because this new pharmacist merely echoed her predecessor in wanting to tackle the immediate symptoms of vomiting and diarrhoea but to leave the specific root cause of the problem, Betty the Intestinal Bug, unmolested. Serious prodding was required before she came up with a recommended antibiotic treatment for the bug itself – 400 mg tablets of Norflocin, to be taken twice a day before meals. Now that it was clear that we were all on the same wavelength and that the pharmacist really knew her stuff (she was, for instance, the only one who’s ever bothered to tell me that milk products and beer are to be avoided while taking such antibiotics), I observed in passing that she ought to be a doctor. “Oh”, she said, “I am doctor – doctor of Thai medicine, not farang medicine.” Well, that was a new one on me. Is “doctor of Thai medicine”, I wonder, merely an informal learned-on-the-job description of what she does on a daily basis or is it a qualification that’s been academically and objectively verified in some way (perhaps even by monks, as in a Wat Po validated massage)? Someone here will no doubt know the answer.

At the market, my husband realised to his disappointment that he’d forgotten to bring his camera-phone with him. That was a real annoyance because the eclectic stalls, the eager Thai vendors and the bemused farang shoppers offer some of the more lively and colourful images to be obtained on a Pattaya holiday. The well-shaded market’s more interestingly atmospheric lighting conditions also provide a welcome change from over-bright studies of life on the beach and from shots – ranging from the intriguingly moody to the in-your-face explicit - of new acquaintances posed in hotel bedrooms. We’ve got plenty of photographs of Pattaya Tai market taken in the past, however, and they’ll do for now. At the market we bought a couple of belts in attractive designs. In recent years we’ve replaced most of our old belts with those of the new style where the clasp pierces the stretchable fabric at any point you choose – such a clever idea that someone ought to have thought of years ago. I also checked out the poor livestock on offer in the pets’ section – baby rabbits, hamsters and birds all looking far too young and frail to have been taken from their mothers. My bargain-hunting husband is, as you all know by now, a hard-nosed character – but he’s also a soft-hearted one and just can’t bear to look at them.

From the market, it was on to the beach. Fuk was wearing a fetching blue shirt today, replacing yesterday’s rather sophisticated red number. What with the new haircut looking like it cost a pretty penny, the boy seems to have had something of a cash injection during his recent few days off. Speculation at Dongtan runs pleasurably rampant…

At 4 pm, we left the beach. My husband swam lengths of the Zing Hotel pool for more than an hour (East Suites residence grants you free access) while I wrote a few postcards. Not many people do that these days. They prefer to send an e-mail and attach a picture they’ve taken, which is, I guess, far more personal as well as being much more immediate. The recipients of my postcards can’t always receive e-mails, however, and, in any case, usually prefer a card as something they can stick up on their walls. For almost 30 years I’ve been writing to prisoners in US gaols, all of whom have been either on Death Row or serving life sentences. Most of them have been abandoned by their families or have no living family members so, as well as writing them long, discursive letters about what’s going on in my life and in the outside world in general (I try never to write less than six closely typed pages – which is why I find it no great shakes to write the comparatively lengthy reports here), I send them postcards from the various places to which I travel worldwide. The longest current ongoing correspondence is of seven years with a guy in Florida who’s just had his life-without-the-possibility-of-parole sentence cut to 40 years after an appeals process that’s taken many years in itself. I’ve sent each of the guys I’m currently writing to about half a dozen cards while I’ve been here and will follow them up with a long descriptive (well, maybe not too exhaustively descriptive!) letter on my return to the UK.

In the evening, with my stomach now apparently at ease with itself thanks to my new friend the pharmacist/doctor and her Norflocin, we fancied eating somewhere new and, in the end, chose an old-established establishment that we must have passed by – but never entered - dozens of times over the years. You’ll see the large red neon sign for Gian’s on the left-hand side of Thappraya Road as you head downhill on the stretch towards Jomtien. We had starters of caesar salad and cream of pumpkin soup, followed by mains of griddled tuna steak (rare-to-medium) and fettuccini Bolognese. Ravenous after my enforced fasting because of sickness, I had two scoops of ice cream (zabaglione and rum-raisin flavours, since you ask). We had a small carafe of wine and the restaurant threw in complementary amuse-bouches and sorbets between courses. It was a very enjoyable meal in attractive surroundings (apart from the loo which is reached by actually exiting the restaurant entirely and, quite frankly, doesn’t maintain its standard) and Gian’s will now, I suspect, become a regular destination.

From there we proceeded to X-Boys in South Pattaya for the 10.00 pm show. That featured the usual big cock routine, a shower show, some naked dancing, a bit of simulated S&M and, ultimately, a fucking show that was less erotic than comic with both boys playing to a few of their friends in the audience. The latter, by the way, was not collectively well behaved. One Asian hetero pair smoked constantly throughout the performance (isn’t smoking still supposed to be banned inside bars, even if it’s a regularly flouted prohibition?) Meanwhile, another pair (farang/Thai and gay this time) took photos and shot video footage throughout the performance, in spite of repeated bans projected onto the back of the stage and announced on the PA system. Moreover, they didn’t just record the performers but also filmed the farang himself climbing repeatedly onto the stage and giving his favoured targets some lengthy (but rather inexpertly-delivered, I thought) blow jobs. Having paid good money to watch the show, I wasn’t too impressed to have my field of view constantly interrupted by cameras thrust in front of my face (dicks, it goes without saying, are another matter entirely). Nor do I wish to have my enjoyment of attractive Thai boys in action compromised by the addition to the proceedings of a self-indulgent, overweight and distinctly unattractive farang. Thank goodness for the intervention at that point of the professional break-dancing troupe who gave us a typically slick and technically expert routine and looked like they’d be quite happy to break the legs of anyone attempting to join [I]them on the X-Boys stage.

Our journey home on the songtaew provided a particularly memorable climax to the evening. One sitting space had been left unoccupied but remained inaccessible in practice because a middle-aged Russian woman wouldn’t move up, even when she was asked and gestured to do so. I sat down regardless, forcing her to shift along the bench, whereupon she unleashed a torrent of abuse, mostly in Russian but occasionally in English (“Please, why don’t you sit down?”, she asked sarcastically and loudly - to which I at once responded “I have just done so, madam.”) Eventually, when a space became available on the other bench, she moved across and spent the rest of the journey glowering at me with the look of a KGB hit-man on a sight-seeing visit to Salisbury. Finally, as I climbed off the back of the songtaew at Jomtien Complex (or, as it seems we must call it these days, “Supertown”), she stuck out her leg and tried to trip me face-first onto the road. But having, as per the pharmacist’s orders, abstained from the vino in Gian’s and stuck to Coca-Cola in X-Boys, I was alert to the possibility of such an attempt - and it’s her leg that’s now, I’d imagine, in a worse state than mine.

Pattaya – a microcosm of the world in a baht-bus…

[Oliver2]

Thanks....songtaew stories deserve a thread of their own.

[neddy3]

I'm glad that you're feeling better.
Your reports are a great read, and I hope that you'll keep up the good work.

Am I correct in remembering that there is unfinished seduction of an icecream vendor?

[Marsilius]

You have a good memory, neddy3, and my thanks go to you and - earlier - to christianpfc for your concern for my health issues. I will certainly update that work-in-progress on the ice cream vendor before I leave...

[arsenal]

Oliver wrote.
"Thanks....songtaew stories deserve a thread of their own."

Russians too for that matter. I once saw an apoplectic lady Thai bar owner grab a Russian woman by her hair and throw her off a baht bus on to the road after she'd tried to leave without paying the bill.

[christianpfc]

From there we proceeded to X-Boys in South Pattaya for the 10.00 pm show. ...
One Asian hetero pair smoked constantly throughout the performance (isn’t smoking still supposed to be banned inside bars, even if it’s a regularly flouted prohibition?) Meanwhile, another pair (farang/Thai and gay this time) took photos and shot video footage throughout the performance, in spite of repeated bans projected onto the back of the stage and announced on the PA system. Moreover, they didn’t just record the performers but also filmed the farang himself climbing repeatedly onto the stage and giving his favoured targets some lengthy (but rather inexpertly-delivered, I thought) blow jobs.
Smoking in bars, despite being against the law and signs prohibiting smoking, occurs frequently (unfortunately for me as I don't like it).

But taking pictures and videos is completely new to me. I read on stickman that some bars have signs with a 1000 (?) THB fine for anyone trying to do so (how are they going to impose that?). In Classic Boys Bangkok (now closed) I read/wrote messages and was asked by staff to stop doing so.

[frequent]

(isn’t smoking still supposed to be banned inside bars, even if it’s a regularly flouted prohibition?)Yes, along with public sex performances and prostitution, I know you'll be gob-smacked to hear
From there we proceeded to X-Boys in South Pattaya for the 10.00 pm show. That featured the usual big cock routine, a shower show, some naked dancing, a bit of simulated S&M and, ultimately, a fucking show

[Marsilius]

Sadly, my gob was not smacked on this occasion. Next time I'll sit closer to the stage.

[Nirish guy]

Thanks for taking the time to post Marsillius, I enjoy reading your posts.

That's a lovely thing you do writing to the long term prisoners, can I ask just out of nosiness how that started ? Was that something you just took upon yourself after seeing someone on the news perhaps and decided to write or is it perhaps a government sponsored programme of some type where you live, where you ask and they allocate you an inmate or two to write too maybe ?

And also ( just to complete my nosiness in that regard) do you discuss any side of your personal life in your letters ( i.e divulge that you're gay / married to a guy etc ?) as I'm guessing that unless the prisoners are hand picked by "someone" that the information could result in at the least a non reply if not a reply you might not want to read perhaps !? Or maybe Im totally wrong about that and every inmate is more than happy to converse with ANYONE no matter what their orientation in life based on the confirms of their current predicament !?

Obviously if you feel any of the above questions are too personal and you dont wish to share that's absolutely fine, I just thought it was an interesting aside in your post is all, but feel free to stick to tales of attempting to break cheeky Russian womens legs just if you prefer :-)

[Marsilius]

Thanks for the kind words, Nirish guy.

I started, I think, when 30 years ago judicial death sentences and executions in the US were rather more prevalent than today. At that time there were some notorious miscarriages of justice in the UK which, if we had had the death penalty, would have resulted in the deaths of some entirely innocent men (I recall that the wrongful conviction and sad later life of Stefan Kiszko made a particular impression on me https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_Lesley_Molseed).

In my view, such episodes must make anyone with a degree of sensibility question the death penalty, for surely just a single "wrong" execution immediately invalidates a hundred "rightful" ones (if you consider execution "rightful" under any circumstances, that is). The number of people on Death Row in the USA - and the fact that I could easily communicate with them in a common language - made me target my efforts there.

I simply went online and searched for "USA prisoner pen friends" or something like that. There were - and still are - several sites that list details of prisoners who are looking to while away time (which is all they have) and to keep their brains active by writing letters to new friends. There's space there for guys to write something about themselves, so you get an idea of ones with whom you might share some common interests to write about. Most, to be fair, specify that they want a woman to write, but others are happy to make contact with anyone who's willing to take the trouble. Of course, not all guys turn out to be necessarily what they appear - a few are simply looking for money to be sent and as soon as that is apparent I politely but firmly bring the correspondence to a close. In 30 years and, I'd guess, maybe 40 or 50 prisoners, though, that's happened on only a handful of occasions. Money may, however, be another sort of issue entirely because an international stamp costs a prisoner rather more from his meagre "earnings" than a domestic US one and that may deter him from taking up a response from overseas.

I tend to say that I have a partner - sex unspecified - but no children and leave it at that. In all those years, though it's hard to credit, no-one has asked any more. Maybe those guys prefer a "don't ask, don't tell" policy... I suspect, too, though, as you suggest, that outing myself early on might deter some from responding (if only because prisoners often share their mail with those not getting any and might feel at risk of "guilt by association" if they were known to have gay friends - violence is VERY widespread in US gaols).

I'm currently writing to two guys. As I mentioned, the one in Florida, a correspondent for seven years, has had his sentence cut to 40 years on appeal. The other guy is in North Carolina and is unlikely ever to see the light of day again. Nonetheless, he keeps his spirits up remarkably well and I hope that the three years' worth of letters that I've written to him have helped.

By the way, inspired by your words, I will try to break at least one more female Russian leg before departing for home - although if that intention goes awry you might find yourself having to write to me in a Thai monkey house.

[frequent]

Sadly, my gob was not smacked on this occasion. Next time I'll sit closer to the stage.I’m always fascinated by Anglophone sodomites who practised their sexual activity before decriminalisation and who carry on through pursed lips about some triviality of which they disapprove because “it is illegal”

As for proponents of the death penalty - it’s always interesting to see how many of them support the death penalty but are vehemently opposed to abortion or euthanasia

[poshglasgow]

"Unfortunately, his return put paid to my scheme to ask the boss whether Fuk was working today in the expectation that Rit might reply "No! Fuk off!"

Terrific!

[poshglasgow]

Anglophone sodomites?

Sounds like a make of vintage car or perhaps the name of an anti-British Iranian band!

[frequent]

Anglophone sodomites? Sounds like a make of vintage car or perhaps the name of an anti-British Iranian band!I was tempted to have a rant about sodomites who prattle on about their “husband” while reporting visits to louche establishments and using prostitutes. As I understand the revisions to the various Marriage Acts that have been made to allow for same-sex partners, they take care to retain the concepts of monogamy and fidelity. Participants make legally binding promises along those lines as part of the ceremony

So I won’t mention that the word “hypocrite” often springs to mind in those circumstances

[Marsilius]

My husband and I enjoy paid-for sex with attractive young men as a holiday recreation on a par with scuba diving or crazy golf (take your pic). Such sex is a fun activity, physically enjoyable but emotionally meaningless - suiting all parties in the transaction.

State sanctioned and recognised same-sex marriage provided us with a means to obtain legal and social advantages long available to our heterosexual brethren. Other than giving us that valuable piece of paper and bestowing a pleasant degree of public recognition among our friends of all sexual persuasions, it has in no way altered my fundamental relationship with the man with whom I have shared my life on an exclusive emotional basis for more than 30 years.

"Hypocrite"? As I read your own comments, the words that spring to my own mind are "pompous twat".

[arsenal]

A smiling, happy with life, pleasingly pleased and pleasantly posting Marsilius wrote.

"My husband and I enjoy paid-for sex with attractive young men as a holiday recreation on a par with scuba diving or crazy golf (take your pic). Such sex is a fun activity, physically enjoyable but emotionally meaningless - suiting all parties in the transaction."

Exactly. I explain to my straight friends that for us (the normal membership here so no, it doesnt include ol creepy) paid for sex is simply a branch of rhe entertainment industry. Nothing more and nothing.less.

[Nirish guy]

"Hypocrite"? As I read your own comments, the words that spring to my own mind are "pompous twat".

And an incorrect pompous twat at that as surely freaky you know that in a modern day marriage or civil partnership each party can write their own vows, that being as much or as little as they chose. The old vows of "and to forsake all others" etc are long gone if you wish them to be.

PS - As it says in the very mediocre book - "let he without sin cast the first stone" - as I'm fairly just like everyone else, your shit stinks too !

Sigh.....and you were doing so well to lately..... :-( Oh well....

[latintopxxx]

as if " straights" dont use whores too.....lol...lol....rofl...

[poshglasgow]

You've certainly had some bad luck in terms of ill-health on this holiday, Marsilius. Getting the right medical care is paramount. I re-post here, my tangle with the dreaded mosquito bite (or perhaps spider) encountered on a Pattaya holiday.

About seven years ago I was staying at the Café Royale in Pattayaland Soi 3, when, during the night or during the previous evening, I was bitten by something. I have never worked out whether it was a spider, mosquito or mamasan – all of them equally poisonous. There were two distinctive puncture wounds side by side on the top of the foot and another a little way up on the lower shin.

In scratching (never scratch mosquito bites), I must have allowed bacteria to enter the tiny wounds and within days my foot was twice the size; it was a deep red and my leg from the knee down seemed to have filled with liquid. The skin was red hot, angry, fiery and very tight. I couldn’t get my right foot into my shoe so shuffled around the bars in carpet slippers! Cellulitis had set in. Christ, it was dreadful. Never, never delay in getting that condition sorted.

A kind soul sent me directly to a wonderful doctor in Jomtien, Doctor Mongkol (adjacent to the Jomtien-Airport bus terminus). Superb care. An injection straight into the left buttock followed by an oral dose (“Ever had an oral dose before, Sir?”) of flucloxacillin antibiotic. After a few days, there was noticeable improvement and the foot returned to normal after a fortnight.

Now, when I am in Thailand,before going out in the evening, I spray Jungle Fever (Deet) around the top of my shoes and a little on the top of my baseball cap. At the first sign of a bite I cut my nails and take an antihistamine tablet.

I believe Dr. Mongkol is still based in Jomtien. He's an excellent doctor of mature years and I believe I'm right in saying that he told me he once studied and practised in the USA.

[poshglasgow]

Following on from the post above, I didn't help matters by allowing a masseur to massage the affected foot and leg. In effect, I had greatly exacerbated the problem, as the massage helped spread of the poison/infection.

[francois]

That's a lovely thing you do writing to the long term prisoners, can I ask just out of nosiness how that started ? Was that something you just took upon yourself after seeing someone on the news perhaps and decided to write or is it perhaps a government sponsored programme of some type where you live, where you ask and they allocate you an inmate or two to write too maybe ?

Marsilius is not the only one who communicates with inmates. Likewise I have written to several over the years including a friend, a reference and a family member serving sentences from 5 to 50 years. Now it is possible to send a type of email to inmates rather than written messages.

[Marsilius]

I have thought about using the newly-introduced jpay (e-mail) system to communicate with prisoners but think, on balance, that it's more personal for them to receive individually written letters, postcards, etc. Whether they can e-mail you back (so saving their money) if you haven't been the one to initiate an e-mail approach first, I do not know.

[Marsilius]

Wednesday 8 January 2020

We spent the day visiting some friends. They have asked me to respect their privacy, so today’s report focuses solely on the final event of the day when my husband and I took in the 11.30 pm show at Dream Boys bar. Along with its neighbour across the soi X-Boys, Dream Boys is now one of the few remaining survivors of the glory that was once the South Pattaya gay scene.

I will say upfront that the Dream Boys show was the best that I’ve seen on this holiday. As I have only seen it on this one occasion, however, it may be that the following description may not represent a typical performance or format. Still, this is how it looked to me…

As the regular Dream Boys go-go dancers were finishing their first stint – so from about, say, 11.15 or so – several new and very attractive young men in street clothes began arriving at the bar and disappearing backstage. Initially I thought that they must be returning offs, but the coincidence of them all arriving back within just a few minutes of each other did strike me as somewhat odd.

While Dream Boys seems rather more flexible than X-Boys in its attitude to the clock, it was only five or ten minutes after the advertised 11.30 showtime that the bar’s regular go-go boys – an attractive mix of generally quite muscular types - exited the stage. They were then replaced for the show by all those new arrivals. That proved to be a further contrast to X-Boys. In the latter, you’ll notice that, apart from the break-dancing team, all its showtime artistes are merely costumed – or, more often, un-costumed – members of the regular go-go boys corps de ballet. When it comes to the show in Dream Boys, on the other hand, I spotted just one or two of the more generously-endowed regular go-go boys in the big cock parade: other than that, the Dream Boys go-gos are, as we might say, at least temporarily gone-gone.

The show itself was cleverly done and, using gauzes to great effect, more subtly erotic than its X-Boys equivalent. It began with three boys dancing and caressing each other behind a canopy of fine netting which revealed everything you wished to see but did so, set to appropriate music, in a dreamy, romanticised sort of way. The acts that followed involved boys in various combinations of twos or threes. A danced S&M routine was something of a misfire, but an episode where three boys rubbed each other all over in a full-sized bathtub was, I thought, very arousingly done. A final big cock parade provided a fitting climax, with boys using their engorged members to beat out tom-tom rhythms on bongo drums. There was no fucking show – which on this occasion I did not miss.

While the show as I’ve described it may sound unremarkable, its standout feature was those “imported” boys. At least two of them were quite outstanding in the looks department with exceptionally beautiful faces, finely chiselled physiques and only unobtrusive or non-existent tattoos. Thai male model material, I’d say - and presumably keen to stay unattainably un-offable because they left the premises as soon as they’d completed their routines and had collected individual tips from audience members eager to offer, in the process, a quick bit of hands-on individual appreciation.

After the departure of the demi-gods – who were really, in at least two cases, the best-looking boys I’ve seen in Pattaya in years – the heretofore gone-gone go-go boys returned. I’d love, for the sake of a final joke, to be able to report that they later came-came, but I left before that point so I really cannot say.

[gerefan2]

Thai male model material, I’d say - and presumably keen to stay unattainably un-offable because they left the premises as soon as they’d completed their routines and had collected individual tips from audience members eager to offer, in the process,.

Or more likely on their way to another show bar such as BBB, Castro or Boyz Disco to repeat the performance.

[Marsilius]

That's a good possible explanation.

[pong]

That's a good possible explanation.
G-fan was just before me, wanted to say same-same. Ask them how many shows they do in 1 weekday-eve.
As for poshgl: looks/sounds to me it was bedbugs with a nasty infection due to scratching thse open.

[christianpfc]

About seven years ago I was staying at the Café Royale in Pattayaland Soi 3, when, during the night or during the previous evening, I was bitten by something. I have never worked out whether it was a spider, mosquito or mamasan – all of them equally poisonous. There were two distinctive puncture wounds side by side on the top of the foot and another a little way up on the lower shin.

Centipede? I have only seen few of them in all my years in Thailand. But one of those occasions was when a group of Thais were sitting and having drink/food, and I have never seen Thais get up that fast, grab something, and kill the insect.

https://images.app.goo.gl/rGmodmhgevukBaj99

Millipedes, on the other hand, are abundant and harmless. Well, they must have some poison else there wouldn't be such large numbers; rats or chicken would eat them (but the same does not apply to Takop fruit, Flacourtia, which lies on the road in numbers when the ripe fall off the tree, but nobody eats them except me). They will make a coil when disturbed. It's fascinating to watch their legs' sinuous movements.

On the show in Dream Boys, my thoughts are the same (I would take one or two of their gogo boys for free, but immediately off one of the external performers; however they come and go quickly, and even when we happened to be outside the bar, the one in question didn't show any interest in me). It's not my style to ask someone if he wants to go with me (I prefer it the boys approach me, of have "looking for money" in their online dating profile); and in this the case the money asked for would probably be more than I'm prepared to pay (1000), because "I'm not a prostitute, I'm a model!"

Did anyone here ever go to a Thai prison to visit inmates? I have no interest in writing to prison inmates, but would visit people in prison to get an impression of life in a Thai prison. And that would make an interesting headline for a post: "ChristianPFC goes to prison".

[Ivory]

"
Did anyone here ever go to a Thai prison to visit inmates? I".

I had an experience of visiting boy in Klong Prem prison in Bkk. That is something that i never forget. Unfortunately story didn't have a good end becouse that boy has die in prison hospital due to a lung infection.

[latintopxxx]

wonder if the imported show boys are actually the break dance guys that do their impressive break dance routine in lots of gogo bars as well mas out in public.

[neddy3]

No. The breakdance boys are the B-Boys.

Dream Boys is not one of the bars that they visit.
They do visit across the soi at X-Boys.

Dream Boys 'showboys' are entirely different.

[gerefan2]

Where are you Marsillius? I hope you have got over the plague. Haven’t heard from you for a few days.
Any more news ?

[Marsilius]

Thanks for enquiring. Sadly, I'm now back in the UK - but there's been one unexpected development since my return and I will be explaining about that on a separate thread that I will be initiating shortly.

Thanks, too, to everyone who pushed the "like" button in response to my recent posts. The positive responses convinced me that the time and effort put into writing such rather-longer-than-usual reports had been well worthwhile.

[gerefan2]

Thanks for that. I’m glad you didn’t fall off a motor bike!

[Nirish guy]

Thanks for that. I’m glad you didn’t fall off a motor bike!

But if you did we hope at least that you had a suitable licence and insurance for it of course !! :-)

[GerBear1958]

Thanks for enquiring. Sadly, I'm now back in the UK - but there's been one unexpected development since my return and I will be explaining about that on a separate thread that I will be initiating shortly.

Thanks, too, to everyone who pushed the "like" button in response to my recent posts. The positive responses convinced me that the time and effort put into writing such rather-longer-than-usual reports had been well worthwhile.

Marsilius - Thank you for an excellent report. I will be in Pattaya and Bangkok next year. I'm taking notes from your information.

[gerefan2]

. I will be in Pattaya and Bangkok next year. I'm taking notes from your information.

A day (year) is a long time in Politics (Pattaya)!

[Oliver2]

I loved the reports....thanks. Walking past East Suites (Jomtien Complex) last night, I wondered what advantages they hold (if any) over Jomtien hotels.

[Marsilius]

Marsilius - Thank you for an excellent report. I will be in Pattaya and Bangkok next year. I'm taking notes from your information.

Thanks for your kind words. I and many others will be looking forward to reading your own reports in due course!

[Payneful]

Thank you for the effort you put into your reports.

I will be coming to Patts in July this year. I look forward to the fun I will be having. NiceBoys is now a must place to visit.

When Offing is it less than 2k a tip for the boys or more if from a gogo?

[BOY69]

In Pattaya usually ST 1000-1500 LT 1500-2000 BHT.

[arsenal]

Quite the sunset this evening.

[arsenal]

And then the whole sky turned pink. As if to herald my arrival. Haha.

[dinagam]

And then the whole sky turned pink. As if to herald my arrival. Haha.

The haze has definitely got worse since Christmas. Nevertheless the view is simply stunning.

[Payneful]

In Pattaya usually ST 1000-1500 LT 1500-2000 BHT.

Thank you @BOY69

It has been a long time for me going to Patts, so I only know BKK prices.

Cheers Once again

[pong]

Yes, BKK prices (or at least those quoted in the high-end heavy pressure gay ghetto along Suriwong/Silom) are far higher as anywhere else in TH. Pats more or less sticks to the more or less standard Thai pricing structure. Even just 2-3 mins away from the ghetto quoted prices are already lower-think of the 3 old style sleaze bars around soi 6. Main exception is Tawan due to its famous specialty.

[arsenal]

Dinner in Bang Saray.

[arsenal]

Quite nice here this evening.

[gerefan2]

Certainly was!!

[gerefan2]

Pollution...what pollution??

[arsenal]

And then it got even more romantic. Sunset stroll on the beach anyone?

[gerefan2]

Found a new cafe at the end of Dongtan beach. About a mile walk from Jomtien along the new beach sidewalk. Superb!
Alternatively go down Soi Russia.

Sands Cafe.

https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g293919-d19691863-Reviews-Sands_Cafe_Pattaya-Pattaya_Chonburi_Province.html

[gerefan2]

And then it got even more romantic. Sunset stroll on the beach anyone?

Must have passed you ....or passed you over!

[arsenal]

Maybe. I was on the scooter singing Walking in Memphis and stopped to take the second photo.

[dinagam]

Now is the time to keep your distance from the Chinese tourists or the boys who have been in close contact with your potential offs.

[gerefan2]

So now I know who the singing nutter was who nearly ran me down was as I walked back to my bike!

[arsenal]

I'll getyanexttimeslowcoach. Haha.