Pattaya trip report, Dec. 2019

[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.