What’s up reader, how them nuts hangin’? I’m assuming low and sticky, if you’re in Bangkok. It’s hotter than hades and Patpong’s ladies these days. And if you’re lucky enough to cool down with a beer in a redlight district, you know you’re also lucky to even get a seat. The gogos be crowded, yo.
Last week, Bangkok’s blogger royalty once again decried the death of Patpong. Hell, I posted as much way back in March. That’s what blogging about a country you don’t live in gets you—a two-month reporting delay. Ironically, in that time I’ve come to be less-pessimistic about the Pong, and the other two RLDs. When we lost XXX, The Strip, and Black Pagoda, it felt like a knock-out blow. But 2 months on, the Pong persists. Like a vampire that’s been stabbed everywhere except the heart. It sleeps like a corpse in the daylight, and hits its stride after sundown. Additionally, having spent some of the week in NanaP and Soi Cowboy, I can sum up the current state of business in the redlight in one word: BOOMING. Contrary to the callow opinions of fly-by-night bloggers who peek their head in a gogo for 5 seconds and then post a thousand words about it, the nightlife in BKK is alive and kicking—and that includes Patpong, albeit later in the evenings.
My theory—and I’ve said this before—is that tourists hit the gogos in the order of their anticipation, which means they visit Cowboy first, riding the wave of PR that still persists 12 years after “The Hangover Part 2.” Then, on realizing Cowboy mostly sucks, they pop over to Nana because it’s close by. If after that their yen for bikini girls and/or short-time fun isn’t sated, they Pong. Which is why the Pong is always busier later in the night.
And then there’s this: last Tuesday, as one of my harem disrobed and flopped onto my bed, she casually mentioned that the mamasan from Black Pagoda phoned her up and told her to be ready to return to the pole in a few weeks. And all weekend there were murmurings of another shut Pong venue reopening after a rechristening. Personally, I think such talk is too optimistic. But still. Rumors abound of a Pong rebound. So maybe in a couple months, Bangkok’s longest-running nightlife blogger will finally catch up with this old chunk of funk and declare the Pong back from the brink. We’ll have to wait and see.
In the meantime, this portly poon poker did the usual, dividing my redlight time between the Pong and visiting former Pong girls in Nana and Cowboy. Here’s how the week shook out…
On Wednesday, I moto’d to Nana and grabbed buffalo wings and a Federbrau in Hooter’s before joining some girlfriends in Twister. We ate popcorn, drank soju–a thing that gave me flashbacks to living in Itaewon–and gently molested each other over our clothes. Then I made cursory visits to Billboard and Butterflies, a thing I do less-often these days since A—none of my friends work there and B—it’s always the same: crowded, loud, and impersonal. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that’s what those joints, and Nana at large, are. That’s the tourist-focused business model. Locals fit like square pegs in those gogos, which is why I sat quietly, drank my SML, and disembarked for more desirable digs.
‘Twas standing room only in every Pong bar by half 9. King’s 1 has gone completely mad, putting on lesbian shows and sporting bottomless dancers at various times throughout the night. It gets downright carnal in there these days. Speaking of these days, every night sees a gang of new faces on the stages of every gogo. It seems news of the tourist boom and their penchant to part with their pensions has trickled back to those harlots who’ve been sojourning in Isaan post-plandemic, and they’re slowly returning to the pole in plenteous posses.
Patpong used to be the most fun of all the RLDs, with a “rich history,” a sense of character that continues to be glaringly absent from Nana and Cowboy, and the friendliest (and prettiest) girls. Post-police closures, those friendly female faces have spread out over all 3 locales, so now in order to soak up the same quotient of fun, one must divide one’s time among them, thus my newly-adopted routine is: Hit Cowboy first for a catchup with former Strip/XXX dancers, then trundle to either Nana or Pong. Or, hit Nana first to hang with galpals in Twister before skipping back Pongward. I try not to squeeze all 3 RLDs into one outing. It’s hazardous overkill. And yet, sometimes it can’t be helped.
On Thursday, however, I went straight t’Pong, hitting Bada Bing first where a roster of 20 brand spanking new dancers graced the stage. Then I moved to King’s 1 where on approach, a gaggle of 15 Japanese tourists stood outside, hemming and hawing about whether or not to enter. I vaulted past them to ensure I’d find a seat. 30 seconds later the dudes wandered in, and two hostesses tried to force me from my spot in order to make room for them. I said no. They persisted. I said no again. They despaired. The dudes filled in the seats around me. There was no need to move me. If one presumes to live this redlight life, one must accept that the Thais who work the gogos are lovely, kind-hearted, and vapid. As an afterthought, I realized I could’ve been more accommodating, but fuck man, 13 years in the Pong should’ve earned me a little clout. From there I flitted across the soi to Radio City, perched on a stool outside, and imbibed of a bourbon and a Drew Estate Nica Rustica adobe. I’m about a third of the way through the collection of DE cigars that were collected during my recent trip to Cali. Maybe I’ll post a brand breakdown on my Substack, a forum I’ve neglected for weeks. I’ll let you know, in case you’re into stogies.
On Friday night, I started out on Cowboy with fish and chips and a Tiger pint in Oasis, and met the boss-man, Daniel. Nice bloke. And kudos to him if he’s responsible for the tunes belting out the jukebox. I heard Blur, New Order, and Stone Roses whilst dining. That’s class.
From there I scampered down to Rainbow to hang with Bee and Aom. On the way, I spotted a farang mum’n’dad pushing a pram with a fucking baby in it. Lord have mercy, these stupid fucking parents. Later that same night, while passing by the Dollhouse terrace, another blue ribbon couple sat at a high-top with their daughter, who couldn’t have been older than 8. Redlight Rule number 2 is, don’t bring your mewling offspring to the scene. If you do, you’ll scar them for life. And also, you’re a cunt.
Cowboy was more-or-less its usual self, with a few notable notes. First, Dollhouse housed exponentially more hotties than the previous week. That’s the good news. Unfortunately as I sipped my SML, two obese American women waddled in and took up stools stageside, much to the chagrin of every punter in the place. I knew they’d be jiggling their fat rolls onstage in short order, so I necked my beer and vamoosed. Still, the stank of female farang wasn’t enough to dampen the delight of the sight of so many dishy dames in Dollhouse.
This was also true at Rainbow, where the unfamiliar yet hot faces outnumber my small crowd of transplanted Strip friends. It’s a veritable feast for the eyes. Friday was the Rainbow company’s birthday. This included all the Rainbows in NanaP as well. They celebrated with cake, which one fetching femme tried to force-feed to this fat farang, but I passed my piece to Bee, who put it away in 3 bites (see photographic proof in this week’s YouTube slideshow—link below). The vibe in Rainbow continues to ride high on the wave of enthusiasm exuded by the girls, and also the quality of tunes churned out by the DJ. At one point, Queen belted out of the speakers, and Bee sang along, “We will, we will, love you.” I was about to correct her, when I realized she wasn’t wrong. At least, not in Thailand, where the Thai word for ‘love’ is ‘rak.’ Business in Rainbow is good enough that 1—they were able to open their upstairs dance floor on Friday—a first since the onset of the scamdemic and 2—Bee can finally afford the fake tits she’s wanted for so long. She’s having them installed at the end of June.
A few days ago my buddy Jack Nites mentioned there might be a few ex-Pongers in Tilac, so I swung in there for one sip of beer, which was all I could muster after perusing the stage (chock full of chunky monkeys) and clientele (easily the world’s grossest redlight customers), and no Pong veterans in sight. I left my 165b SML 90% full and bailed t’Nana and a single gogo—spoiler alert: ‘twas Twister. Nat, Puy, and Oil were in seductive form, and after grabbing a few boobs and jiggling a couple ass cheeks, I retired to the terrace to smoke a Drew Estate coffee infused Tabak Dulce, paired with a Dirty Mother—Hennessey and Kahlua. I know, it sounds awful, but it is in fact fucking awesome. That got me hammered enough to make bad decisions, so from there I mototaxi’d t’Pong. After trying and failing to find a seat in any of the bars, a hostess at Bada Bing dragged a chair out from behind the bar for me. Dudes were dancing in crowds around the stage. This was at 23.30, when the Pong comes alive. It doesn’t truly thrive until the witching hour, and oh, my stars and garters, did the Pong ever thrive that night. Every bar was a dizzying frenzy of hedonism and abandon. There are bloggers who say Patpong is dead. In short, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Yes, Patpong is a shadow of its former self. But even in its diminished state, it still rocks. It’s still rammed wall-to-wall with punters, as are Nana and Cowboy. Any so-called Bangkok blogger who claims the redlights are dying or that Patpong is dead is just plain wrong. The only real problem with the Pong now is, there are too many girls and customers, and not enough bars. Though if recent rumors are to be believed, that hiccup might well be rectified in the near future.
In the meantime, this bleary-eyed bloviator must contend with throngs of mongers filling every square inch of places like King’s Castle 1. Last week, a team of 9 Japanese businessmen and one tagalong female coworker piled into K1. Each dude had 3 dancers on his lap. They must’ve spent half a million baht. They rode that fine line between having a laugh and disrespecting the staff. None of my girls were there but the stage was adorned with half a dozen new hotties, so that made up for it. On stumbling home, I spied two more newly-opened cannabis shops on Soi 1 (Green Empire and The Cannabis Club), bringing the total tally of ganga dispensaries in the Pong to….lemme count…9 or 10. Jeez, what will those people do if the Move Forward party actually takes power and goes ahead with its plan to recriminalize weed?
On Saturday I accidentally hit all 3 RLDs again, starting out at Hooter’s Nana. I had to settle for Hootz again after trying Blarney Stone, Fitzgeralds, Chequers, and The Blackout and finding all of them packed with pensioners. ‘Twas the same in Big Dogs, Stumble Inn, and Morning/Night. One positive effect of Hooter’s’ extortionate prices is, the poorer expats don’t go. I counted 6 customers when I sat down near the mechanical bull. The closest patron was 30 feet away. I ordered a buffalo chicken quesadilla—a small but safe change from the usual buffalo tacos. I thought the steep 349b price tag must’ve included the view, and for once there were a couple hot waitresses in there. But in fact, the ‘dilla was quite filling, packed with huge chunks of breast meat. The combo of gooey nacho cheese, buffalo sauce, and sour cream was…interesting. The waitress set down a bottle of ketchup with the plate. Never mind that the Heinz family are notorious population reductionists and practically inject cancer directly into their products. What part of buffalo chicken or quesadilla calls for ketchup?
From there I hit Twister to hang with Oil and pass her some cash to cover her mum’s medical bills, then swung up to Whiskey’n’GoGo, expecting to find two former XXX Lounge dancers–Beer and Earn. Instead, I was instantly overwhelmed by a tsunami of pure delight at the sight of 90% of XXX’s roster onstage. So if you’re a XXX regular, or a XXX fan, and have been going through XXX withdrawals, I’ve good news for you: your favorite gogo experience didn’t die. It moved to a corner of NanaP. Like a flock of geese, these birds banded back together in the unlikeliest of places. But I’m all for it. I’m overjoyed to find the wreckage of a gone-gogo washed up and reassembled in a semblance of the original. Beer and Pu stole my phone and took a few selfies. Then later, Pu said, “Seven, do not post because I have boyfriend.” So I had to scratch out her face in the photos (see this week’s YouTube slideshow, link below). But Tong and Chuthamas had no problem posing for Seven’s social. They’re pretty easygoing.
At half 10 I motaxi’d t’Pong and straight to Pink Panther to squeeze in a cocktail before the Muay Thai and hang out with Beem—Bangkok’s tiniest gogo dancer. The Panther was crazed. The only reason I got a seat is because the owner made room for me. This is the new normal onPong. There are simply too many customers for the few surviving bars to handle. From there I popped into K Corner where the seat by the door had just been vacated. I slid my ass in there for a SML. I had to skip K Castle as the only open seat was an empty beer keg. Ice was onstage and had a mini tantrum as I backed out the door. Bada Bing had my usual seat waiting and a SML appeared before I even sat down. The place was packed, but emptied out at 32.50 as if every cunting punter was some kind of Cinderella pumpkin. The girls eyed me hungrily and I knew I was out of my depth. This barfly doesn’t barfine, so I paid and exited. And that’s how the week ended.
And so, Patpong lives—partially in the Pong where it belongs, and partially in Nana (and to a smaller extent, Cowboy). Thus, my life has started to resemble pre-police shutdown normalcy, except instead of all of Bangkok’s best girls being conveniently located in one RLD, they’re spread out among three.
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: If you want to keep a harem (if you already do, you already know this), set aside a small pile of reserve cash for the end of the month. That’s when every girl in your stable will scramble to come over on the same day—namely the day rent is due. Making your bed available for half a dozen girls requires some clever scheduling, especially if you’re old and can’t bang like you used to. Be ready to switch roles from benefactor to loan shark. It’s inevitable.
