Well, it was an unseasonably rainy week in Asia’s City of Angels (the Thai word for “Bangkok” literally translates to “city of angels”). Whoever ordered the November storms can suck my nuts, know’msayin’ reader? Anyway, it put a real damper on my week. In spite of the deluge, I managed to hit the redlight a couple times.
The takeaway was, tourists are everywhere, fucking up everything. Patpong isn’t nearly as overloaded as Nana. When I was a kid, I loved the Six Flags amusement park just outside LA. The roller coasters were awesome. But if you fucked up and went on a busy day, you’d have to wait in line two hours for each ride. That’s what Nana is like at the moment—crowded to the point that it isn’t any fun. The post-scamdemic recovery is here. Anyone whose business outlasted the lockdown is back to normal and the streets are teeming with idiot foreigners again. And I’m back to not being able to find a seat in my usual haunts again.
On Monday, I hung out in XXX for a bit with Beer, Earn, and Tong before ducking into King’s Castle to buy a drink for Som. At some point in the past year, a waiter there started bringing me a pa yen (cold towelette) with my drink, unwrapping it, unfolding it, and placing it gently in my hands. I’ve no idea why he did it but I always thanked him. Today, all the bar staff do it. I think they must think it’s something I requested. Now it’s part of a King’s ritual that I suppose will end only after I expire.
In current week, Bada Bing has, dare I say, the only perfect 10 in all of Bangkok redlightdom, plus three 9s and two 8s. It’s a remarkable lineup. Who knows how long it’ll stay that way. I don’t have photos of them, but I did manage to snap some pics of other girls, plus shots relating to most of the content in this post. You can view it over at my YouTube channel (link below).
On Tuesday, I made a Pong run, but was frustrated a bit by the rain. I ducked into Radio City to wait it out, and the place was jammed (and stayed that way all week, by the way). There’s a dancer in there who—back in June—was so freaking hot I actually got a semi in public for the first time since I was in my 30s. I posted a photo of her on Twitter and dudes went nuts over her. Flash forward to now, and she’s a shadow of her former hot self. At the start of summer, she was too good for me. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Now, she shoots me the hungry eye while onstage, yet now I wouldn’t fuck her if she paid me. It’s amazing how quickly a gogo dancer can slip from hot to not. It’s another double-edged dagger of the plandemic. When there were no tourists, no work, and no money for these girls, they had no extra kilos. The tourists have only been back for four months and some girls have already ice creamed and KFC’d themselves from 10s to 6s. It’s a sad state of affairs. I suppose one could surmise that it’s a pendulum swing—girls scarfing down food they had no access to a year ago—and maybe that means they’ll slow down in time and find an equilibrium of hotness again. Fingers crossed.
Since opening a few weeks ago, the Isarn (is how they spell it)/somtam (is how I spell it) restaurant on the corner of Patpong 1 and Silom Rd has been doing gangbuster business, so I swung in last week to see what all the fuss was about. I ordered two staples: krapow gai (“You can spicy?” asked the waiter) for 100b and somtam (“Spicy you can?”) for 75. That’s pricey compared to the street vendor versions but insanely cheap alongside any other nearby restaurant.
When I first moved to Thailand, I lived next door to an Isaan restaurant, and the old ladies there took great pleasure in educating me about the food. Their menu was so hot it would soften your eyeballs as you lifted the spoon to your mouth. On a scale of 1 to 10 of spicy, their fare was an 11. I give the place in Silom a 9 for spiciness. I was four bites in to the somtam before my blood began to boil. But I was out of practice at eating Thai spicy, and almost threw in the towel. In the end, I polished off everything with nose running, eyes watering, and ears ringing. Proper Isaan spice can cause a man to mildly hallucinate. Like peyote or mushrooms. It can lead to a heightened state of consciousness. As I sat there dripping sweat, mouth and tongue numb, I felt as though I was levitating above the table and could suddenly read the minds of other patrons. A pale, skinny farang sat down at the table next to mine. I wanted to warn him about the spicy but my mouth wouldn’t form words. It was then that I tumbled backward into a memory from 2010, of living in Krabi and eating at a roadside restaurant that was really just a cluster of bamboo palapas and a propane hot plate. Life was simple back then. It consisted of bottles of Leo, cigarettes hand rolled in banana leaf, weekends in Ao Nang, and a skinny brown beauty in bed next to me. Those were the days. Now it’s all skytrains and Irish pubs and crowded gogo bars.
APEC is over but the insane traffic didn’t abate at all last week. Dignitaries remained behind, jetting around town with police escorts, no doubt on the prowl for the other kind of escort. Kamala Harris, US Vice President and lobotomized buffalo, was in town. I don’t know what’d be more insulting to Thailand—a visit from America’s inept retarded 2nd fiddle or the pants-pooper-in-chief. Anyway, I almost had to cancel yet another mototaxi ride to Nana Plaza (throwback to last week’s post) on Friday. In the end, we got there, but only after driving all the way around Silom. Another out-of-season downpour hit just as I touched down, so I had to scrap plans to find a new eatery and duck into Hooter’s for another plate of buffalo chicken tacos. My waitress was a lovely trainee who seemed relieved when I spoke to her in Thai.
Speaking of retarded Americans, I continue to be confounded by the lousy hordes of Yanks in Bangkok (Yankkoks for short, copyright BKK7). How and why are they here? Was there a sale on plane tickets or something? At any rate, there was a herd of them in Hooter’s. All fat, all wearing baseball caps with sunglasses perched on the bill, all talking too loud about stupid inane shit. One kept getting up and blocking the portable air-con with his massive body, hoarding the breeze, clearly unable to adapt to the Bangkok weather.
I made my usual first stop in Twister to see a couple of friends. We perused photos on my phone of the three of us in Electric Blue eight years ago when they both worked there. Hanging with them is nostalgic, like a kind of redlight time machine. The stage was only 2/3 full at 20.00, likely due to the rain. It didn’t stop punters from hitting Billboard, though, which was packed to the rafters by 21.00, with 15 topless chicks in the tub and two rotations of 20 girls each on the main stage. All over 30 but only a handful of chubsters. Most of them seem from their muscle tone to be on a regular pilates routine. A couple hotties in the mix but no one I’d barfine. Billboard has installed a couple of flat screens and were showing the World Cup. I found myself watching the football—a sport I revile—instead of the stage. Spanky’s was rammed and festive, as usual. The girls in there are fun, easy-going party animals. I wish I had the stamina to keep up with them.
Right after that, I motored back t’Pong during a brief break in the rain, arriving at XXX in time to overhear a wingeing American expressing his chagrin that the previous night, a girl he wanted to barfine got barfined before he could barfine her. Somehow, he blamed the staff for this, and was moaning like a bitch to anyone who’d listen. A farang couple in their 60s and their two adult children wandered up and down Soi 2 looking to get out of the rain. They hemmed and hawed over XXX before walking on. Did they hit the restaurant in Foodland? Nope. Paddy Field Irish bar? Nah. The old dad did peek into Crown Royal before moving on. It would’ve been interesting to watch the CR ladies trying to short-time the dad and son with the mom and sister there. Instead, the fam of four opted for Black Pagoda, where they sat huddled together, mouths agape, seemingly not believing their own eyes. BP was packed with customers, I assume thanks to the balloons adorning the ground floor entrance. Pagoda was having a theme party, though I couldn’t suss out what it was. I think the balloons were a marker for the Kink Empire cosplay party next door in what is now the Candle Light Studio and what used to be Club Black. I couldn’t get in as I wasn’t in a gimp suit but I did snap a pic of some uniformed bdsm’ers before they went in (see the photo slideshow companion for this post via the YouTube link below). Contrast that craziness with three hours earlier when The Patpong Museum played host to Bangkok’s governor. Speaking of, his mandate to move the wiring underground on Silom Road is finally finishing up. For weeks, they’d dug up a section of the pavement beside the road, and I was convinced they were going to widen the street in order to alleviate the horrid congestion during rush hour. But alas, that was far too practical. Instead, they’ve installed shrubs that I suppose will grow into bushes, that the rats have already adapted to, making the greenery along Silom both useless and creepy. Way to think it through, politicians. So glad you’re in charge of stuff.
The only good thing about the clusterfuck of tourists is, the number of gogo dancers increases in sync with the throng. They say the angle of the dangle is inversely proportional to the heat of the beat. In Bangkok, the number of whores correlates with the tourist hordes. Several familiar faces have reappeared, along with a gaggle of new ones. A little chickie who danced at Thigh Bar when it was still a gogo tried her hand at Black Pagoda before shifting to Bada Bing, where she fits like a silicone titty in a lace bra. A new barmaid at Pink Panther is an old barmaid from Electric Blue. She saw me on Saturday and said, “Seven, you remember me? From Electric—nine year ago.” Holy shit, I thought, I’ve been in the redlight too long.
Speaking of, after four years of weekly redlight blogging, my fanbase has grown to nearly double digits. One such fellow approached me outside a gogo last week while I was nursing a cocktail and puffing on a cigar and said, “Keep up the good work!” I thought he meant the work of drinking outside the gogo and gave him a thumbs up. Then as he walked off he said, “I’m a subscriber.” Then I realized he must be talking about my Substack. I felt a moment’s comfort at knowing people actually read this stuff, followed by a moment’s panic that he recognized me. I fantasize that I’m anonymous when I’m out and about. I guess there aren’t many fat, homeless-looking cigar smokers onPong.
On Saturday, I watched several tourists being gently hassled by Thai barkers offering massages and ping pong shows. They all responded rudely, and I wanted to walk up to those passers by and say, “Yes, it’s annoying. But that’s what you signed up for when you got on the plane. These guys are just doing their job, just like it’s yours to sweep the floors of ASDA after closing. Do people freak out at the sight of you with a broom? No. So cut the Thais some slack while they try to make a living and you invade their country with your cunty cunt.” In the end, I just stayed on my barstool with my black russian and cigar. Because that’s me just doing my job.
Muzik live music bar on Patpong Soi 1 is almost ready to open. A crew has been hard at work all week trying to make it tourist-worthy. From the looks of things, they’re just about done.
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
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: Over the last few weeks, I’ve made mention of gogo dancers who were once hot and are now not. In my redlight life, I’ve passed up chances to barfine a girl, thinking there was plenty of time and I’d get to her eventually. But often times, these girls squeezed out a kid, or switched to an all ice cream diet, or acquired a drug habit that permanently made them unfuckable. So my advice this week is, if you see a hottie in the gogo, go get her. Not tomorrow, not next week. Carpe vajay. Seize the pussy. Because you don’t know what the future holds.