Pattaya trip report, Dec. 2019

[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 [I think] 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, 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.