What’s up reader, how’s life treating you? My name’s Seven and this is my blog. ‘Twas a somewhat subdued week for this weary gogo rat. I meant to get over to Cowboy at least once, but it didn’t happen. Instead, I mostly hung around and Pong’d, with one early visit to Nana Plaza.
On Sunday I hopped over to NanaP to hang with galpals in Twister. I got to Soi 4 early and so waylaid in Bully’s for a pint of happy hour Heiney (120b) and some beef tacos (389++). I give ‘em a 4 out of 5—tender chunks of steak on a bed of lettuce and tomatoes with melted cheese over the top and small sides of guac and sour cream. 599b all-in. That’s more than Hooter’s.
When I slid into Twister at 20.00, there were four chunkers onstage, but within 15 minutes they were joined by 20 more chicks, half hot, half not. Two Middle Eastern dudes strutted in and perused the menu for more than a minute before asking, “You don’t serve food?” and then exiting in disgust. Jeez, why are there so many morons in this town? I ogled the girls and chatted with friends for 30 minutes and then headed up to Spanky’s. On the staircase outside, a man in his 60s failed to follow one of my cardinal rules in Thailand, which is to watch where you put your feet. He missed a step and tumbled down to the ground. I didn’t stay to assess his injuries.
Spanky’s was a raucous party per usual. My manager buddy said business is good—”not 2019 good, but good.” I’m of two minds about the tourist boom. On the one hand, I’m glad they’re here, pouring their cash into the Thai economy. On the other, I fucking hate them. The price of plane tickets doubled in the last month, and as long as people keep coming in droves, they’ll stay high. I got the last open seat in Spanky’s and took in the titty show for a bit before bailing out of the Plaza. I didn’t even bother to hit Billboard, since I haven’t seen a bangable girl in there for at least two weeks. NanaP has quadrupled its number of security guards, who’re positioned every two meters along all three floors, I assume to keep folks from taking pics of the beer garden.
For some unknown reason, the fucking mototaxi stand outside Nana was closed. I had to schlep up to Suk Soi 2 to get a bike back t’Pong. Outside XXX Lounge, an Indian dude tried to convince his wife to stop in for a drink. He led her inside with a triumphant expression on his face, and 10 seconds later was dragged back out by the lady, who marched them straight out to Silom Road. He violated Rule Number 12: Don’t bring your partner to Thailand.
In King’s Corner, a flock of fucking farang swooped in—two dudes and four shocked women. They stayed longer than I did, mouths agape, eyes glued to the stage. Outside, workers were already setting up tents for the return of the Night Market.
Speaking of, the reopening of the Patpong Night Market on Monday was…anticlimactic. They started late, I guess forgetting that it gets dark by 18.00 in December. Only about a third of the soi had vendors, and so the whole thing came off pretty weak. The following day they did a bit better, extending almost halfway down the street. It’s proving a challenge for taxi drivers who’d become used to using Patpong as a thoroughfare. I witnessed lots of awkward 5-point U-turns on Tuesday.
On that day, I slid into Derby King expecting to be the lone customer and anticipating a fast meal. That didn’t happen. The joint was half-full of fucking tourists. It took 5 minutes to flag down a waiter and 20 minutes for a plate of pad thai, because there’s only one old lady in the kitchen churning out one order at a time. Though I gotta say, the old gal makes a mean pad thai, goddam. Worth the wait.
The gogos were mostly quiet on Monday, with a large chunk of girls taking the day off for Father’s Day. Except for Radio City which had more hot ass onstage than I’d ever seen in there, with two rotations of 10 girls each.
In King’s Castle a farang half my age ordered a glass of Sprite. At first I thought, ‘vagina.’ But then reconsidered. Maybe he was just being cautious. A tourist alone in an unknown redlight…maybe he just didn’t want to be incapacitated. Speaking of King’s, there was a girl on the pole who’d been a crush of mine a few years ago. I barely recognized her because she returned with a horrendous nose job. She now sports a giant farang-style shnoz that looks as appropriate on her face as a fish on a bicycle.
XXX Lounge has added a ‘private’ area/booth/naughty space for those punters not willing to barfine—similar to the old closed-in booths that used to be in The Strip. It’s not something I’d ever partake in, though in my younger days I did get busy in a Thigh Bar toilet stall on one drunken occasion. ‘Twasn’t my proudest moment but I did acquire a harem girl as a result who’s still with me today.
On Tuesday I came down with a case of arthritis in my foot, but I did limp out to Soi 1 to check on the Night Market progress and tip a few in XXX and Bing.
On Wednesday my harem girl stood me up so I Pong’d briefly. A winter breeze on my balcony tricked me into thinking it’d be a cool night, so I wore a regular cotton t-shirt from the US and nearly boiled alive. I was so hot I asked a girl in King’s to smell my armpits to check for stank. She insisted I was in the clear.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon I schlepped over to G’s German for their Thursday schnitzel special (199b) and a pint of Schneider Weisse Heller Weissen. The first time I had this Bavarian beverage was on a snowboarding trip to Switzerland, savoring every sip next to a warm fireplace on a freezing night in Interlaken. Drinking it in BKK is markedly different, but still awesome.
At 20.00 a drunk farang got kicked out of XXX Lounge. The mamasan—who was half his size—snatched his beer from him and told him to hit the bricks. I guess some dudes just can’t handle the redlight.
Some of the hottest girls in Bangkok currently dance at Bada Bing, but they’re consolidated into one roster, which means every 20 minutes they vacate the stage and are replaced by the—ahem!—second string. Two Japanese cunts dipped in during the thick rota and immediately skated out, violating Seven’s Number 1 rule: never leave before the rotation.
On Friday I was on Suk 22 in the late afternoon to buy a ticket for the Marriott’s New Year’s Eve buffet. There’s a Buddy’s Diner on the same soi, so I stopped in for a chilli burger. I was surprised to find no cheese on the thing, but it was huge and spicy (that’s what she said) and I scarfed it down in under two minutes. There was a gregarious fellow at the bar who introduced himself to every patron (there were five of us) except me (I had my headphones in) and engage in conversation. He had an infectious laugh, and laughed often. He talked to a German about his broken Apple Watch, then to a Swiss about which snus to buy, then to a New Yorker about international finance. He kept mentioning he was from Canada, no doubt to not be mistaken for a dirty American. The scene was for me a glimpse into what expat life is like when you’re friendly to others. I suppose it’s common in this town but it’s a completely foreign concept to me, as I abhor other humans. I talk exclusively to three types of people: motorbike taxi drivers, gogo dancers, and gogo bar owners.
Business in the Patpong Night Market picked up some by the end of the week, with the addition of a few more vendors, some street musicians, the odd freelancer, and a caravan selling beers (I counted six taps and seven different cans). ‘Twas a schoolgirl cosplay weekend at XXX, where two Scandinavians in their 20s asked me why I was typing in my phone instead of watching the girls. It Would’ve taken too long to explain that any girl I might like is someone I’d already banged a hundred times, so instead I just said, “I don’t speak English” and changed seats. A short time later, they got two girls down for drinks who I wouldn’t fuck with your dick (no offense) and seemed pleased as punch with their choices. I sometimes wish I could relive the excitement of that first wide-eyed visit to BKK.
Later on, I swung by Delaney’s for the live reggae and whiskey specials. That joint is quickly becoming a hip hotspot, which means an old monger like me will soon be too uncool to go there. By half 10 there were no empty seats in King’s so I planted myself in Radio City. In strange contrast to Monday, there were remarkably few girls onstage—an indicator that Pong hasn’t found its equilibrium yet. The perfect balance is a dance roster in proportion to the busy-ness of the soi, which has ticked up thanks to the Night Market.
Several times throughout the week, I stopped in at Pink Panther, where on each occasion, Big Nan (formerly of The Strip) asked me to take her picture. Best (Electric Blue/Black Pagoda/Twister) is now on the pole at the Panther, along with her BFF (can’t recall her name) from Glamour. For photos of all these lasses, plus girls from Black Pagoda, Bada Bing, Radio City, and XXX, as well as snapshots of Delaney’s and the Night Market, check out the slideshow companion for this post over at my YouTube channel (link below).
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Check back next Sunday for another summary of red-light events. In the meantime, you can read more about Bangkok life on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Redlight videos and slide shows, including the companion for this post, can be found at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
For racier content and candid videos from inside the gogos, plus selfies and TikToks by select girls, you can join a members-only site dedicated to Patpong gogo dancers for just 5 bucks a month over at https://unlockd.me/bangkokgogodancers which is a new platform. We’ve had to start over from scratch, since the old one refused to pay out. We’ll post a mix of old content and new, so if you’re a previous member, we’ll try to give you content that’s worth signing up for again.
Follow me on Twitter @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight, and until next time, keep your balls warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another week above ground in the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.
Pro Tip Post-Script: Every tourist dreams of coming to Thailand, getting a Leo vest (tank top if you’re American) and a pair of flip-flops. And if you’re at the beach, that’s great. But slipping on those flops to trapse around Bangkok is a BAD IDEA. The highways and byways of this city are treacherous for one’s feet. If you don a pair of flimsy sandals, it’s highly likely you’ll step on a loose tyle or miss an errant chunk of concrete, or catch the end of the flop on a step or a tree root or a cable or an exposed pipe. Bangkok is a bastion for foot injuries, so leave your sandals in the hotel room and strap on some trainers (sneakers if you’re American). You don’t want to spend your holiday on crutches.
