| Dan Alexander |
06-27-2005 03:46 PM |
Well guys, I may be the only one who thinks it's far off topic but so be it. Maybe the women reading the board should post pics of the latest yound studs? I just read this a couple of days ago, written by Striking Viking and it all sounded too familiar.
Coming Home?
June 11, 2005
Pattaya Beach, Thailand
Next to painting the house, changing a motorcycle tire is the least pleasurable way to spend an afternoon. Yet the Travel Gods smiled once more as a blowout occurred while white-lining through stalled border city traffic—within seconds, a wobbling Blue Beast slowed to a graceful halt directly in front of a well-stocked motorcycle shop. Twenty minutes and four dollars later, we’re back on the road with new tube, lubed drive chain and new friends. Even the last hundred miles in the rain to Bangkok was uplifting.
Motorcycle maintenance is a constant but regular cleaning and oiling hasn’t been enough to spare vulnerable chains and sprockets. Gritty road dust from periodic off-roading over powdery dirt-tracks eats sprockets and chains every ten thousand miles. High-speed slapping of overly stretched links means worn-tooth jumping any second. Even flipping the rear sprocket at half time hasn’t helped enough; fish-hooked teeth will start snapping off at the least opportune moments.
Holding out until Singapore to avoid outrageous imported parts prices of Thailand wasn’t going to work and recalling a recent raping by BKK Motors, mercy was unlikely. Up until now, the local’s unwritten rule of two-tier pricing for taxi rides and trinkets has had minimal effect on travel expenditures. But doubling prices for foreigners on already expensive BMW parts means budget bites in the hundreds of dollars.
Well-known in the world riding community, Mr. Yut from Dynamic Motors volunteered to canvass BMW parts departments and make the purchases on my behalf. There’s often an abundance of sharks waiting to exploit foreigners in need but real motorcyclists help each other and are always anxious to lend a hand or loan tools. Since the front sprocket was previously installed with an impact wrench, it would need one to remove it. Mr. Yut not only passed on his discounts, he handled the swap for free.
It took four days to coordinate what would be an afternoon’s supply shopping at home--meanwhile the indifferent streets of the capitol have grown cold. As in most countries, pretty faces and hustlers migrate to cities while the pure at heart remain in villages. Bangkok may be the center of Thailand but the heart and soul is in the country. Returning to Siam has been the closest event to coming home since departing the US and it’s hard figuring a reason to move on. Let’s see now, a mild climate, cheap hotels, delicious food, beautiful women and great roads—is it any wonder foreign men immigrate daily by the planeload?
In the mid-eighties, Pattaya Beach had a population of twenty-thousand, mostly Thai and some foreigner. In twenty short years, it’s jumped to two million as an overdeveloped multicultural colony of retired white men and hopeful Thais catering to their whims and needs. In between Pizza Huts, 7-11s and McDonalds restaurants, legions of saggy-bellied European men cruise rows of beer bars and flashy strip-joints perusing thousands of catcalling young working-girls. Skinny, slump-shouldered nerds stroll through the crowd savoring the reversal of roles. Amidst beckoning bargirls cooing “Hallo sexy man I lub you too much” they saunter about as rock stars fending off fans.
As Cairo boulevards were sprinkled with elderly Italian women clinging to teenage Egyptian boyfriends, the traffic jammed roads of Pattaya Beach are filled with waddling drunks unlikely to be so lucky with women elsewhere. Throbbing rock music blares past midnight as ex-pats on pensions gather to drink themselves to cirrhosis. The perils of superficial paradise lead to suicides as disillusioned foreigners discover the loves of their lives have more than one husband. Well coached by over-the-hill-whores, within a few weeks eager new service girls hone their hardened edges.
Outside cities, even when river-bathing, shy female Thais wouldn’t dare venture in less than oversized tee-shirts and baggy pants. In Pattaya Beach, at the insistence of pimping boyfriends, once bashful country girls jiggle downtown bra-less on platform shoes in mini-skirts the size of cut-off socks. Money rules and temporary fortunes offer false security. Not counting freelancers, there’re a million registered hookers in country that outlaws prostitution and bars.
The first question I’m asked anywhere in Thailand—“Where is your Thai girlfriend?” It must be secretly offensive to assume sleeping with their women is all we seek. More comfortable in backstreet cafés without menus in English, it requires lengthy interrogation for jaded natives to believe someone cares. Soon jabbering old women accept the wandering foreigner and begin my favorite meals at the sound of the approaching Blue Beast.
Asians are superstitious as well as religious. Even towering skyscrapers have small elevated platforms with tiny temples to house their accompanying spirits. But whatever their socioeconomic status, Thais enjoy life. They smile at everyone and laugh at anything. When explaining the journey to the curious, chubby young restaurant girls enquire, “Mai gruah bpee?” You are not afraid of ghosts?
“Mai shuah.” I don’t believe in them.
They giggle in feigned fear, “Pom gruah drah-kool-lah! I am afraid of Dracula!
For whatever the faults and follies, it’s a sullen fantasy being home again. Hearing stories of how life off the aqua waters of Pattaya Beach had changed, until the last minute, I was purposely vague on visiting. There’s no such thing as really going home. Encountering an old friend Jake, a British ex-pat down on his luck, he reminisced about a decade of failures and heartache with optimistic details of the breaks soon to come. Others I had known have drunk themselves to death or jumped off balconies over unsuccessful romance. Asia is a ruthless lover.
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