I sat outside the Sunee Plaza bar and counted the farang at 8.00 p.m. last Sunday evening: one, two, three, eh, three, two, one. Were Sunee to be compared to a really unwell human being, I’d say its condition is critical! It appears to be moving towards that stage where we would summon friends and family to the bedside. I hope sincerely that this is not the case and that a miraculous renaissance occurs – but don’t hold your breath.
Walking through the narrow sois that once shook with energy amid the bright neon, thumping music and crowds of farang, one is accompanied by a thousand ghosts mourning the increasing loss of an integral part of the Pattaya gay scene.
Café Royal – the new Café Royal is awash with building materials and ongoing construction in preparation for the opening. Members will know better that I what the future Café Royal will offer. There is no doubt though, that the rooms desperately needed upgrading. I never really felt it recovered from the demise of Robbie and Ian (“Allo darling, what colour are they? Fish! Fish!”) There was a noticeable increase in traffic (cars/motorcycles etc) meandering through Boystown and the restriction on outside tables and chairs may have a huge impact.
Back to Sunee: I called into Winner. I wondered what the hell was going on. There was a riot. The boys were scrambling about the floor picking up a thousand – or so it seemed – ping-pong balls! A small group of Asian foreigners who were sitting near the bar were forking out rolls of bank notes to buy buckets of ping-pong balls to throw onto the stage. It was like a teacher entering a classroom of ten-year-olds and chucking a bucket of toffees into the air (you get the picture)? It was most entertaining and a tad life-threatening if you happen to be the boy at the end of the pile (note to myself: good title for a gay novel about a boy in love with an older partner suffering from haemorrhoids.)
“Take look, take look!” was the shout from outside Caligula’s bedroom, otherwise known as Eros, so I took a look and as I entered a couple of lads jumped onto the stage, while the tall, heavily-inked blond lad (of whom everyone is aware) lay half-asleep along one of the benches, reluctant to get to his feet due to extreme fatigue, I suspect, from excessive masturbation.
“Take look; new boy; take look!” I was outside Power Boys - and soon inside. A real mix of guys, many anxious to display their attributes, while others reclined lazily against the poles (and Hungarians), flicking through their mobile phones searching for straight porn. It was the same in Nice Boys. Nothing special to report about either bar. It just seems to me that many of the boys in the bars have lost their enthusiasm, while the odd one of two really work hard to capture the interest of the loyal farang.
And now, for those of you of a nervous disposition please turn away now or move on a few lines. I went back to Jomtien and walked into a busy M2M, just as their show was coming to an end. And then it happened.
“Hello dahling, you remember me?”
Dear God, I thought, surely it’s not….
“Cupidol, remember me, dahling?”
Oh fuck, it’s her, the Wicked Witch of the East: the pushy, bloody annoying Cupidol Mamasan!
“Yes, I remember you.”
“Which boy you like?” she uttered, swinging her arm through three hundred and sixty degrees.
Christ, some things never change. Word, however, I soon discovered, was out among the gay ex-pat community already (had been for some time). The discovery of a broomstick resting against the entrance to M2M proved to confirm their worst fear: she’d returned. I made my excuses and left - rapidly. However, the next evening, while I drank a beer in the pleasant bar opposite M2M she suddenly appeared in the soi about fifteen minutes before the beginning of the late show, wearing a tight black cocktail dress similar to that worn by Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She swooned around, clicking up and down in six-inch stilettos, smiling broadly as if someone had pushed a coat hanger into her mouth (maybe they had), while holding the ubiquitous “SHOWTIME NOW” board with which she approached every male that passed. Incidentally, there is no doubt that the show is worth watching and that it is popular but just be aware – she’s back! “What number you like, dahling, number sixty-nine, he do everything, but not smoke.”
That same evening a magnificent sparkling angel appeared from nowhere slap bang in the middle of the soi, causing mayhem among the street vendors, beer-affected farang and passing motorcycles. She’s appeared, not to announce the second “cumming” but to assist ‘Audrey’ in trying to get punters into the show. This was six-feet tall of glittering, shimmering tiara-wearing ladyboy opulence and confidence, sporting wings like a Boeing 747, capable, were she not careful, of swiping glasses from the tables of surrounding bars. It was like watching the Angel of the North in drag. I turned to the Irishman behind me and said, “Is that the Angel Gabriel?”
“Only on his day off, dear” came the superb reply. Irish repartee at its best.
The witch noticed my interest in the Angel Gabriel, which was, I can assure you, purely an artistic interest.
“You like?” she said, ducking quickly as the angel’s wings swished through 180 degrees to allow the heavenly figure to scan the soi for the arrival of the three wise men – but they were in Power Boys!
Could you imagine? Could you imagine trying to get this extra-terrestrial ladyboy on board a baht bus and later through the doors of the hotel.
“Sorry dahling, cannot. Impossible.”
“Well, take the bloody wings off and you might get through the door.”
I was lying on a deckchair on Dongtan Beach last Thursday with my earphones in, listening to some ‘meditation music’ (you know the kind - birds chirping, wind-chimes chiming and thunder storms thundering etc) when I distinctly heard someone calling out “Rice Queen, Rice Queen”!
I thought it a tad over the top; a little rude perhaps. I removed my earphones, sat up and saw a guy approaching with a box slung over his shoulder. He began to call out again: “Ice cream, ice cream!”
How the ears deceive!
Dinner at Yupins: a good steak and very friendly owner. Worth the money and definitely worthy of a repeat visit next time. Dinner the next evening at Café John. An interesting restaurant. Food was very good (I had dinner twice there) but if you leave dinner until after, say 9.30, the atmosphere drops. I wasn’t sure who was in charge but the staff were fine.
As another poster on the SGT site has already confirmed, Sizzler offers very good value for money in the various shopping malls. It’s always a good stand-by.
Dinner at Nam Sing on second road was okay in terms of food but the service and welcome were, frankly, appalling. It seems that there is a short-arsed, baggy-jeaned, stony-faced, miserable-looking, thirty-something guy who is the new, inspiring front of house. He served me with a fag in his mouth. Fag? Sorry – cigarette. Can you imagine saying that in Greenwich Village???
“Hey, I’ve just seen a guy with a fag in his mouth in that restaurant over there.”
“Nothing new around here, love.”
Finally a word about the shows. They seem to follow the same format and I was not as keen on them this time as I was six months ago – but then that was Christmas. The current format? Drag queen appears and begins the inevitable lip-sync and then four handsome boy dancers appear and dance around her. Most farang eyes are on the dancers. She’s then joined by another drag queen and so it goes on and on and on... Long gone are the days of candles, rampant dogs, pole dancers and naughty nuns. I’m not keen on the whole drag queen thing and the thought of a night at Alcazar would bring me out in spots (eh, speaking of which…)! I always recall the sign outside the former Throb: BOYS not KATOEYS! I wonder if that is why it was packed to the ceiling each night.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall stop typing and attend to the removal of the door frame, as the Angel Gabriel is coming for dinner and sweetmeats!
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Originally Posted by poshglasgow
