Hey reader, how’s it going? Man, summers in Thailand are hot. These days, Bangkok simmers like a giant wad of gum stuck to a sizzling cement sidewalk (that’s pavement, for you Brits). Like some kind of mongering vampire, I sit in the dark shelter of my apartment and only venture out to the BK streets after the sun goes down. Out of pure laziness, I only made it as far as Patpong from Sunday to Thursday. On Friday I endured a 15-minute mo’taxi ride to Soi Cowboy to set eyes on The Dollhouse’s new neon sign and rub elbows with the exPong girls in Rainbow, and both Fri and Sat I made a point to hit NanaP. Here’s a summary of events, starting with the Pong…
On the whole, Patpong is as a plane crashing in slow motion. Imagine engines on fire, streams of black smoke trailing behind, and bits of fuselage peeling away as it hurtles toward the unforgiving Earth. Bit by bit, day by day, the Pong is disintegrating. Delaney’s will not reopen. The Paddy Field will not be replaced. Cosmos is rotting to dust. Glamour will never return. Foodland will close in the coming weeks (they’re moving to the new office complex on the corner of Silom Road and Soi Convent). Chances that The Patpong Museum will reopen hover around zero percent. Black Pagoda is gone for good.
And so one must ask: Can Patpong stay alive on the strength of Pink Panther, Bada Bing, Radio City, and the two King’s gogos? The answer seems obvious. Yes, those bars are still fun. Yes, a talented punter can eke a wild night from these few venues. But the bars cannot survive on the wallets of locals. They need tourists—stupid, slack-jawed, wide-eyed drooling tourists. And in order to attract that ilk, you need an identity. For decades, Patpong’s identity was “a piece of redlight history.” Its character was molded by the carefree party vibe in the gogos and the warm, welcoming, girlfriend experience exuded by the girls, that continues to be absent in places like Nana and Cowboy. That kind of profile was something a tourist could latch onto. It fits nicely into a travel blog. It’s a morsel of appealing bait on the end of a hook that had visitors flocking t’Pong by the boatload. These days, the Pong’s profile is a sad shadow of its former self. There’s nothing for a tourist—or tour guide—to get excited about. Nothing to say that would cause a first-timer to think, “Goddam, I need to go there.”
Having said that, and despite being devastated by closures over the past half-decade, the Pong still has more bars worth visiting than Cowboy. Nana has finally surpassed the Pong with six (Billboard, Butterflies, WhiskeyNGogo, Twister, Red Dragon, and Rainbow 5—I’ll explain why Rainbow makes the list later in this post). Cowboy has two—Rainbow and Dollhouse. The Pong miraculously still hosts five worthwhile gogos. The problem is, those gogos are nestled among the ruins of what used to be the best redlight district on Earth. Now that it’s 90% shut, it’s an entertainment zone on life support. Once Foodland closes, foot traffic in the Pong will go from sporadic to a trickle. And short of a supernatural miracle, no hero will arrive to save the day. What Patpong will become remains a mystery. Perhaps it will continue as a zombie redlight, with clusters of fun in the gogos like little islands of ecstasy in a dark, mucilaginous bog. Sure, there’s a sad, small Night Market. Yes, there’s a ganja shop every 20 meters. But how much of a monger magnet can that be?
And really, if Cowboy and Nana picked up the slack, it wouldn’t be such a tragedy. Unfortunately, these redlights lack vision, passion, and drive. The powers in those zones don’t know why they’re successful, can’t suss out why traffic is slowing, and surprisingly, fear any change/innovation/ingenuity that involves risk. The best example is the “no photos” rule in Nana. Every tourist in every location on the planet takes photos of where they are, posts them to social media, and provides free publicity for those places. It’s not 1980. The whole world has been transformed into a virtual one online. Even the bars themselves have Facebook’s and Twitter’s where they post photos of their girls. It’s painfully retarded (and I mean that in the literal sense—it’s a thought process that has been arrested, or stopped, at a point in the distant past) to reject changes to the redlight scene that are happening organically. Nana Plaza is fighting against the rapid current of the culture.
Cowboy is also trapped in time, seemingly in an effort to preserve the heydays of the past. And some bars can get away with that. Dollhouse, for example, is unique in the Bangkok nightlife scene in that it has managed to resurrect the vibe of fantastic gogos of the past. When I sit in there and cast my eyes on the stage, I’m viscerally reminded of the old Electric Blue in Patpong. The girls’ devil-may-care attitude, the mix of different sized dancers (most crucially, a team of superhotties), the overall lack of clothing, and the party atmosphere combine to reanimate the closest thing in existence to the old EB.
Rainbow’s success can also be attributed to the party vibe. The girls are clearly having fun in there, to the point that they seem unconcerned whether there are customers in the bar or not. They give the impression that the soiree would go on with or without us punters, and that’s very appealing. It’s also compelling to witness. I suppose that’s why it’s always crowded in there. Also, having a cluster of terrific-looking chicks helps. Some of these lasses call to mind Cowboy’s triumphant past, when the girls on the soi were too hot for their own good. The sexual charisma is palpable in Rainbow these days. Outside the joint, a Thai guy has created an interesting side-hustle. He’s erected a bar…for the dancers. There are mixers in jugs, plus ice, cups, and bottles of Hong Thong. It’s wildly popular with the girls, who crowd around it all night long, getting drunk and singing along with the mp3 player. A voyeur could sit on the Rainbow terrace and watch the show for free. It’s nothing short of mesmerizing.
Quick side story about Rainbow: their toilets have a glass partition above the urinals so dudes taking a leak can keep an eye on the mayhem. Next to the urinals is a single toilet stall, and the girls must queue up behind the pissers to wait their turn. At one point, I was having a wee and there were three ridiculously hot, drunk dancers standing behind me. They were talking loudly, making each other laugh. One shouted my name as I was mid-stream. I think she was an ex-Strip girl. When I finished up, I turned to smirk at them, and one hottie grabbed her equally hot friend’s arm and said, “We go your room now.” And she didn’t seem to be joking. I told her in Thai that my wang was too old and lazy. They broke into hysterics and we all walked out to the terrace together. These are the kinds of interactions that used to make Patpong the best RLD in the world. Now, they’re happening in Cowboy, thanks to the migration of these good-time girls from XXX Lounge, The Strip, and Black Pagoda to the other redlights.
The same thing is happening in Nana. After a short moto ride I plopped down in Twister. Oil was already off on a barfine, so Puy leaped from the stage to my lap to keep me company. Damn, that girl’s a chatterbox. She launched into a Biblically long monologue about her new condo in Sathorn, her meatless diet, her ex-boyfriend, and her plans for future tattoos. One of the things I love about living in Thailand and maintaining a harem is the silence. My girls talk in small bursts about food, weather, and where I’m going once I finish nailing them, and that’s it. It’s one of the many, many reasons why a Thai woman is lightyears better than any Western chick. They don’t waste my time with trifling bullshit. They don’t bore me with their ideas. They don’t criticize or belittle or emasculate. They’re like dudes in that way. They don’t talk unless they have something worthwhile to say. Puy was a wild exception on this particular night, I think because she was hammered. I listened intently, making eye contact, helping her to feel heard, and when she was done, she heaved a big sigh, kissed me, and walked off. Gotta love Thai girls.
Puy’s BFF Nuchy was not on hand. I asked after her but Puy was tight-lipped about her whereabouts, though both girls did send me photos and videos of their pool and bathtub frolicking during the week. The videos are posted to my Twitter, and the pics are mixed in to this week’s YouTube photo slideshow (link below). Speaking of, a couple of other girls sent me toilet selfies from their respective bars. I’ve had to black-out the background so as to not violate Nana’s Hitlerian photo rules.
After Twister, I of course spent some time in WhiskeyGG with the exXXX Lounge girls. Beer, Tong, and Sai accosted me, and I traded some soju shots for half an hour of groping their various tits and asses. There’s only one thing I don’t like about Whiskey, and that’s the tendency for the offstage girls to hang out in the loo. It’s a small area, so any dude taking a leak does so while standing shoulder-to-shoulder with two or three chicas. And at my age, when I go to piss, I don’t just piss. I often need to let out a long fart, which is not something you want to do while Sai is smoking a cigarette mere inches away. Holding in gas while letting out pee is nearly goddam impossible for this old codger. It makes a misery of the whole experience.
On Saturday I was back in the Plaza, and again hit Twister first, where Oil grabbed my hand at the door and led me to a dark corner. We chilled out for a bit. I bought her friend (who always wai’s me but whose name I long ago forgot) a Coke because, as Oil explained, there are less customers these days and the poor lass hadn’t had a drink in days. Then I popped over to Whiskey where Beer was the lone Seven galpal to show up for work (half a dozen other exXXXers were there, but none whom I’d call a close friend). Sitting in the booth behind me was an old acquaintance and fellow Pong regular who also came to Whiskey specifically to see the XXX Lounge girls. It’s good to see word getting around to the other Pongers (Pong mongers) that they can still get their fix in there. Beer kept me company for a while, patiently enduring my gentle molestations and in exchange I got her a couple someks (that’s beer with a shot of soju in it, for you uninitiated). After that I made a point to visit Rainbow 5, where ‘twas rumored that a crew of exPong girls had relocated. Sure enough, I spotted three familiar fannies (and back tattoos). The barmaids took turns trying to talk me into having a girl over. I said to each that I was only there to see my old friends from Patpong, an explanation that seemed perfectly logical to them.
All of Nana’s Rainbows (there are five) are clusterfuck gogos, meaning there’s an obscene number of girls and punters. The result is something akin to a redlight Jackson Pollack—no real form, or rhyme, or reason. Just a splattering of tits, ass, clunge, and perverts mixed together. The hot-to-not ratio in Rainbow 5 was 2 to 10. I did notice something new on this visit. For a decade, I was ignored in the Rainbows for the crime of not being Japanese. In current year, whiteness is no longer a factor. It turns out the only relevant color is the pink, blue, and beige of Thai cash.
From there I returned t’Pong for a couple of nightcaps, stopping in King’s 1 first. I walked in and six dancers all pointed to my regular seat and shouted “San Miguel Light!” reminding me that I’ve done the exact same thing nearly every night for a decade. Offy came over and let me spank her supple bottom for 20 minutes. Then I hustled over to King’s Corner and found the only open seat. For the second time in as many visits, it took a while to get served. Every barmaid assumed every other barmaid would bring it. Finally after some bickering among them, a SML appeared. A couple of skinny friends were drunk enough to flirt from the stage, and I insisted they pose for photos (see this week’s slideshow). Then I pushed on to Radio City where the male mamasan poured me a free black russian. The stage was packed with new girls, as RC finally starts to realize its potential.
After the free cocktail I scampered over to Pink Panther to hang with Kaew and Bee (former EB/XXX girls) and a former Strip dancer whose name I don’t recall. Maybe you’ll recognize her from the photos in this week’s YouTube slideshow. Joy was also there (formerly of Bada Bing) and she inserted herself into my evening as she so often does, pushing her big fake tits in my face and hoping I’d wedge a 100b bill between them. Which I of course did.
Patpong and Nana have opposite problems. The Pong has too many customers for not enough gogos. The Plaza has tons of bars and not enough butts to fill the seats. All of Nana’s bars put together barely get more foot traffic than the Pong’s five gogos.
My Soi Cowboy visit was largely uneventful. It started at Oasis with a glass of Federbrau and chicken nachos—205b all-in, which is an exceptional deal. Then I met up with Jack Nites in Dollhouse to soak up their superfun, pre-Covid, pre-global downturn vibe and watch a couple of perfect 10s shake their moneymakers onstage. Then we went out onto the soi to witness the lighting of DH’s new sign and visit old Strip friends in Rainbow. As I stared at the crowded stage, and the frenzy raging there, it came to me that this redlight life requires certain skills. A gogo stage isn’t just a gogo stage. It’s a forest, and a monger must not miss the trees for that forest. A savvy satyr can survey a stage with 20 girls in lingerie and pick out the sex goddesses at a glance. And it’s not as easy as aesthetic hotness. Yes, a fit body and a pretty face are important, but there’s so much more to it. A gogo dancer can give off subtle signals all the way from the pole that indicate what kind of bedroom buddy she’ll be. Something as small as the tilt of a shoulder, or where she casts her gaze can betray a wealth of knowledge about her. The difference between a dud and a hellcat can be as elusive as how she turns her hips. But the best indicators are hidden in the movements and expressions a girl takes on when she stops being self-aware. Artist Andy Warhol used to sit people down in front of a camera and just film them for 20 minutes, because he knew that at some point, the subject would let go of their awareness of the lens, drop their guard, and be their true selves. An expert monger can tell what a girl is thinking when she stops caring that a dozen men are staring at her. In those moments—that sometimes only last a second or two—she reveals her true self, and a professional monger can take stock of the person she really is. Does she have fears? Can she love? Is she hateful? Is she conceited? The answers to all these questions lie in split-second intervals between gyrations onstage. Most customers do not possess such powers of observation. These skills are exclusive to the gogo connoisseur.
In all three RLDs, every girl I spoke with moaned about it being low season and the dearth of customers. I remember when BKK redlights weren’t affected by low season. My, how times have changed.
Quick update to a blurb in last week’s blog: I mentioned that Oil got a 7-day suspension from Twister for the crime of being photographed by me whilst eating soup. Come to find out, her so-called suspension only lasted around 10 minutes. Hence the mention of her twice in this post.
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/
Photos of everything in this blog can be found in the YouTube slideshow companion for this post at
https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
If you’re in a generous mood, you can donate anytime at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/bangkok7
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: This will sound redundant to dudes who regularly read my content, but a good rule in BKK these days is, don’t put off hitting a bar, gogo, restaurant, food cart, etc. to a later date. In current year, businesses in Bangkok are here one day and gone the next. If you postpone your visit, it’s very likely you will miss your chance, so get your ass over there while you still can.
