Thailand travel writing; Journey 1998)
(⛔️ ✋ Language or scenes may offend)
Chiang Mai’s meandering Chiang Khlan Street is a two-kilometre long stretch of contrasts. Take my first evening there, as I stepped outside of the Lai-Thai guesthouse at 10 p.m. Fifty strides away from my accommodation, I was greeted by three fourteen-year-old girls – they didn’t look any older than this – in very short skirts who sat at a table on the pavement edge outside a clutch of bars.
‘Please come inside with us’, they squeaked, standing up, grabbing my arms and attempting to march me into one of these sleazy watering holes. They continued, ‘We are very friendly girls and want some farking, yes?’
But this is only half the picture. It gets more gross. The following midday, my nonchalant pottering around a Buddhist temple complex in another pocket of Chiang Mai had come to an end. I had been forced out of its grounds by one of the many rabid looking battle-weary dogs that roam these places in packs. Back on the street, the silence was punctured by a high-pitched chorus. ‘Hello Sir. How are you? Remember us from last night?’ I looked up and there they were — the same trio of fourteen-year-olds, complete with satchels and school uniforms, on their way home, during their school lunch break. Their daytime transformation was considerable.
But all that is a slight aside, merely emphasising the contrast along Chang Khlan. At the bottom end it exudes a lively blend of shopping, eating, browsing around the night market, and partaking in an evening constitutional – a localised work-a day atmosphere; whilst at the top end, its more like a work-a-night atmosphere, with a long stretch of dubious nocturnal establishments, where one can partake in an alternative shopping spree — all tastes catered for.
Some ten hours after this chance midday acquaintance, I completed the hike down to the bottom of Chang Khlan, past the snaking night market, and stepped into a family run restaurant.
I sat down for an hour, recovering some of the energy that the several times daily jaunt down Chang Khlan had sapped from me. Following a bit of a splurge and a spot of bartering for trinkets at the bottom end of the night market, I started to retrace my steps back up the street. It was not a wearisome jaunt to which I was looking forward.
Bangkok, Phra Borom Maha Ratchawang Subdistrict, Phra Nakhon District, Bangkok, 10200, Thailand
Chiang Mai, Saraphi District, Chiang Mai Province, 4452, Thailand
It was 11 p.m., but even at this late hour there was a steady flow of cars, taxis, auto rickshaws, bicycles and mopeds passing along this thoroughfare. However, It was hardly in a state of gridlock and travelling in one of these vehicles would still have been a lot quicker than going on foot.
Five minutes into my walk, I heard a moped slowly approaching. As it drew level, the driver slowed down to a walking pace.
One thing I had learned pretty fast during my previous ten days in the towns and cities of Thailand was that, as a single bloke, any unsolicited approach from a woman on the street probably meant one thing — sex for cash. So you might say I was on my guard a bit.
‘Hello mister she said, with a broad grin.’ How are you?
‘Fine thanks.’ I kept walking; the moped kept coasting.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Oh, just to the top of Chang Khlan.’
‘Oh, very long walk, very tiring.’
‘Yes, but I’m getting used to it by now.’
‘l don’t think so,’ she said pointing to all those drops of perspiration on my forehead.
My newfound friend reached up with a tissue and wiped some of the beads of sweat away.
‘See, come sit on the back of my scooter, I take you to the top of the street, no problem.’
I hesitated.
‘Look, no worries, it’s no problem for you, just sit on the back, have a free lift to the top. Relax man.’
What I’d have given for a lift to the end of Chiang Khlan, instead of this energy draining walking lark. Well, this thirty-something lady was quite nattily dressed and cheerful; a chirpy little soul if ever there was one — and who knows I could have been quite wrong about her night-time profession. So, what the hell, her offer of a lift seemed irresistible.
Furthermore, I thought I knew Chiang Khlan well enough by now. It was well lit and the exits off it looked sizeable. There was hardly any way in which I could get lost. How could I possibly go wrong? She might even be good company for this short hop.
I cocked my leg over her short seat. There wasn’t any room for my shoulder bag between the two of us, and so I placed it behind on the luggage rack, using both my hands to keep a firm grip on its handles. With a slight shake, we were off.
Well, I never did find out her name, so I’ll just have to refer to my accomplice as Suki.
As I said, the late evening traffic was quite dense. We were chugging along at a steady ten miles an hour, with vehicles immediately in front and behind us.
Two minutes into our journey, with a swivel of her head and a wobble of the moped, Suki’s serious patter commenced, ‘Hey Mister, you are farking yes?’
‘Pardon?’
‘You want some mucky farky with me? It’s no problem, understand?’
‘Not tonight thanks. Just take me to the top of the road, that’s all.’
Another swivel of the head.
‘Maybe tomorrow then?’
‘No not ever, just keep your eyes on the road please.’
Thankfully she resumed her concentration and went into a period of silence.
Alas the silence only lasted for another two minutes.
‘Sir you want farking yes?’
Was this lady deaf or something?
‘No farking,’ I repeated.
‘OK, no farking, just beautiful blow job. Me give very beautiful blow job, yes?’
‘No farking; no beautiful blow job’, I said.
‘Ok, just ordinary blow job. This not so expensive, yes?’
I didn’t reply and there was a temporary lull in the dialogue. I continued to sit with both hands positioned on my bag behind me. However, Suki’s next trick caught me completely unawares. It placed me with the dilemma of having to choose between: leaving both hands gripping that shoulder bag on the rack behind me; or, releasing one of them in order to remove the driver’s left hand, which I now found resting on my penis.
I was taken aback at the speed with which this happened. One moment, as the driver forgot about sex and focused on the road ahead, I started to dream again about tomorrow’s itinerary; the next, in the middle of the slow-moving traffic, she had placed her hand on my jolly roger and started to give it a good rubbing.
‘Why you no warnt fark me?’ she shouted, moving her left hand up and down.
‘What?’ I yelled, still clutching my bags with both hands, ‘I can’t hear you.’ (More rubbing).
‘Please you fark me.’
‘Sorry, there is too much noise. You’ll have to shout up.’ (Rubbing continues)
‘You no warnt fark? Me very beautiful fark.’
‘Sorry, please can you speak more slowly, I can’t understand.’ (Rubbing getting quite vigorous)
Yes, I am exaggerating somewhat. I did not channel all my efforts into keeping a tight rein on my bag, leaving Suki free to fondle my bits forever and a day. Instead, I brought one hand around to my front and removed that of my masseur, although this took quite a few seconds to complete. The initial shock must have counted for five seconds worth, and then trying to adjust my position to get hold of her hand, without losing my bag and footing – well that could have easily been another ten seconds. Hmm, fifteen seconds worth in total.
I am sure many men would have been queuing up for a moped taxi ride with Suki, with her trick cyclist activities thrown in as extras. But at that particular moment in time, I am not sure what had taken me aback the most: the disbelief that came in those first few seconds, as still focusing on the road ahead, my driver suddenly lifted a hand off her handle bar grips, brought it round her back, and with a uncanny accuracy, placed it slap bang on my todger; or, was it the period that immediately followed this, as I realised, with a fair bit of horror that Suki was in effect giving me a hand job in open view of the vehicles and pedestrians around us. However, it didn’t seem to warrant a second glance from them, and so for a moment I started to question whether it should alarm me? When in Rome, and all that.
‘OK, just another ten seconds worth,’ I nearly shouted, ‘but please be discrete.’
We had got to within a few seconds of journey’s end, and thinking that my trials and tribulations were over, I started to relax. I should have known better. It appeared that my escort was still convinced that the sole reason I had ventured out of my hotel that evening was to search for a good leg over.
She suddenly turned down a minor side street, leaving the traffic behind us.
‘Woow, I said, where are you going?’
‘Good hotel near here. We have nice farking.’
I wanted to get off and walk back to Chang Khlan, but by now with an absence of vehicles, the moped had picked up speed. Equally as worrying was the lack of light in this network of back streets. She slowed down a bit as the murky outline of the dingy Hotel Humping or whatever, materialised through the darkness.
‘See we have very nice farking here. ‘
‘No farking I just want to go to my hotel.’
‘You? hotel?’
‘Yes. Me, hotel.’
‘But this is a hotel, yes?’
‘No I want my hotel, the Lai Thai Guest House.’
OK I find another hotel.’
And then she turned up the speed until we stumbled upon some other seedy establishment, with the silhouette of its proprietor stood in the doorway, beckoning us over.
What I wondered was likely to happen if I struck a deal with Suki. Inside the hotel I’d have probably been escorted to some back room, with its twenty watts of light and a flea ridden mattress; commenced proceedings; but only a few seconds after we had started, some brute of an accomplice would burst into the room with a machete and demand my wadge. This prospect, you understand, did not appeal to me.
More worryingly, I was getting disorientated down this labyrinth of back streets, time to split the scene.
As we arrived at a T-junction, we more or less came to a stop. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I gave her a good side to side shaking. She stopped to see what the matter could possibly be. I got off and said goodbye.
A couple of minutes into retracing my route down this maze, I passed a policeman on the opposite corner, giving a stern lecture to a western male — so what could he have possibly done wrong? I did not loiter to find out.
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(All images are Authors)
Damian Rainford
