Hell so Close

We've decided to hunker down in Kata Noi, a little seaside hamlet near the south tip of the island. The rest of the place looks like the bloated, cancerous version of Las Vegas with a lot of Blade Runner thrown in.

There is no middle ground in Thailand. You are either in the lap of luxury or you're eating shit. Our quest is to find our own quiet middle ground. So far, that means stinky toilets and bad mattresses.

Last night we rode the scooter on a slightly harrowing trip to Patong, birthplace of the Devil. It's right hand drive here, so it can be a challenge to remember that the left lane is the slow lane, and much more of a challenge when you are sharing your lane with a mobile fruit stand on your left and a propane truck on your right, on a winding mountain road. Do what you feel, and the others might accommodate you, that is the rule.

I can't emphasize enough how the guidebooks understate how truly disgusting this place is. They might note that "Patong is the least attractive of the beach communities because it's so overdeveloped." But they should really say, that Patong is quite a unique place because it's the only known region in the world where you can get Street Herpes.

You see a great deal of older white guys wining and dining young Thai women. It's a douchebag's paradise. There is a great deal of shouting going on at all times. Shouting to get you to watch some kick boxing, or a ping pong show. High rise hotels next to shacks, upscale shopping centers boasting mega tall pink christmas trees serving as the backdrop for countless rows of designer knockoff stands.

The food is fantastic everywhere in Thailand, particularly on the streets. So far, we have enjoyed numerous snacks that I have never tasted before at laughably cheap prices. And the other thing that happens on the streets are the endless siren calls to get thee to a drinkery; or to a tailor, or to a massage, or to an optician. These are the main businesses here after food vendors. And it is impossible not to be harassed when trying to get from dinner to your motorbike.

Five or six ladies will all scream Hello! Where are you from? You like girl? Or boy? My friend! bondage show, Kahm in!

My friend! My friend! How about some nice pants? Hilfiger Yes? I make you good deal.

I carry around hand santizer, but it never quite cleanses my soul.

After dinner, our waiter recommended that we seek post dinner entertainment at the Paradise Hotel complex, code for the gay area, and also what puts the Gay in gay. I hate saying that, but there was no queer pride here, just a lot of closet case westerners screeching into 50, hanging with local twinks born after Duran Duran's lesser selling album, Big Thing was released. Again, hand sanitizer did not cleanse my soul.

In keeping with our one massage per day rule, Poodle M (Boyfriend's codename for the sake of blogginess) and I walked into FAITH. As I noted earlier, no middle ground in Thailand, which meant this knocked us squarely in the land of eating shit. We were each assigned an indifferent "therapist", mine more so than Poodle M's, in fact, I was perturbed that mine was as short as a night stand, and angry as hell. They escorted us up a dark staircase, inside of which Poodle M said freely aloud, I guess this is where they kill us. They took him away to shower, I got undressed in my little room while the guy waited alongside me. It wasn't the worst massage, but I was distracted that he didn't wash his hands, and that he sounded like a troll.

Time up, you get up now. Here is water.

I faked a drink, he then told me to shower. Just pointed to the back. Poodle M was already back in the one shower, having just completed his lackluster massage. So I got in with him. They didn't even give me a towel so I borrowed his, but I had to walk back to my room naked. No one even cared, and I just held my breath and laughter until we got way the fuck far away.

Patong is the bad David Lynch dream sequence that has no end. As we tried to gather our thoughts, we of course had to walk through gauntlet after gauntlet of bars and the crazy faced personnel hired to move your money from your wallet to the bar.

Last I checked it wasn't fleet week, but here we were, sailors in a foreign land. The walk to the bike was long, I felt like we were batting away all kinds of walking talking bullshit invitations to see some kind of lame show. They make things out here to be racier than they really are. It's as if a bunch of 8 year olds got a hold of porn for the first time, and they make a really big deal about it, guaranteeing a mind blowing experience, only to show you what you may have already seen on the internet for free.

We got on the bike, and since there was no way to the main road, but to go back through the gauntlet of bullshit, we had no choice but to stick together on the bike, through the crowds, engine revving, parting the sea of crap ahead of us, and we made our way back home. So the guidebooks will tell you how overdeveloped it is, and that it's not as cozy as it could be, I just want you to know, just to save you a lot of time, Fuck Patong.