Friday – The Last Supper
I wake up late – around 1pm, and in 24 hours I’ll be at the airport. Martin and I get a taxi to the Central Rama 3 mall, and get some lunch at Fuji – the Japanese restaurant we visited last week. Martin devours a steak lunch set, I take it easy with some ramen and sushi. The afternoon soon passes in a haze of souvenir shopping, after which we thankfully find time to relax in the pool back at the apartment.
For dinner, Martin and I head out to Papa Lorenzo’s restaurant for some authentic Italian cuisine. A terrific variety of nibbles in the antipasti platter – shellfish, sausage, parma ham & melon, bruschetta and stuffed mushrooms. Then pizza for the main course – fifteen inches of exquisite calories. Stuffed, Martin concedes defeat after around half of his pizza. Determined, I somehow manage to finish mine.
We’re meeting Ho Yu, Pascale and David again tonight at the Irish Exchange, along with some more of Martin’s fellow gemologists. Soi Convent isn’t far from the restaurant, apparently, so we decide to walk off our feast instead of getting a taxi. It’s further than I remember, and we have to walk through Patpong to get there. Nimbly elbowing your way through the thronging hordes is the only real option if you want to make any progress on these packed pavements, and with gusto we do so – eventually making our way to the Irish Exchange, and Guinness.
It’s never simple, is it? The Guinness is watery gloop, and the air conditioning is broken. It’s uncomfortably humid in here, and our brisk walk after the mountain of food combines with the conditions in the usual manner – I’m sweating buckets. Sat nursing my pint as the others discuss the finer points of gemstones, I’m embarassed to notice the sweat patches on my tshirt, as a drop of perspiration drips from my ear onto my shoulder. Yup, pretty disgusting.
A joins us for a beer, it’s good to catch up with her before I leave, we didn’t talk as much as I’d expected on Koh Chang. It would have made sense for us to pair off whilst Martin and Tik did the couple thing, but for whatever reason it didn’t really happen – perhaps because we wanted to do different things, perhaps because I spent half the time ill in bed! Still, we have a laugh and a good bit of banter now, before Martin and I finally leave for the comfort of an air conditioned taxi.
Two years ago I met David and Rob, two Americans, at Martin’s party. Today it’s time to catch up – they’re in a bar on Sukhumvit Soi 11, the Fun House. They’re just leaving for Patpong when I arrive, which I really can’t face tonight, but we have a quick chat and agree to meet up next time I’m back. Hopefully that won’t be another year away! Martin and I sink a beer here before moving on, and as it’s my last night, it would be a shame not to pop into Nana Plaza for a farewell drink – I haven’t been in for two years.
It’s as much hassle as I remember – walking around the ground floor we’re harassed from all sides by people desperate for us to visit their bar over all the others, but we politely (at least in my case – not so politely in Martin’s) refuse and make our way up to the first floor. We’re unceremoniously dragged into the first bar we loiter outside for too long, and it’s pretty unimpressive. The interior could do with a lick of paint, to say the least – it’s more than a little dilapidated. As are the “dancing” girls – they sway on the small stage, looking very bored indeed, and we don’t stay long.
Almost every time I mention Bangkok to friends in the UK, I get the same response. “Ha ha, ladyboys”. Yes. Ladyboys. No, that’s not why I spend time in Thailand. In fact, I’ve never really been in close proximity to one. Until now. I’d have been terrified of going to a katoey bar two years ago, or even last year. But now, like the dancers at Casanova’s bar, I’ve got balls. Martin’s never been in one either, so in we go.
Kylie’s on the stereo, the beer’s expensive (130 Baht) but cold, and the dancing girls, whilst not actually girls, are at least actually dancing. It’s actually a really chilled-out atmosphere, there’s none of the frenetic hassle of the regular bars, and I feel completely safe and at-ease. Until I glance around the room, that is. There’s quite an array of medical science gone wrong in here – some of them just look like men in dresses, others more like Franenstein’s monster. And yes, there are a couple who actually look frighteningly like beautiful women. If you didn’t know the signs, and stumbled in here alone after a few beers on your first night in Bangkok, you could get quite a surprise.
We only have time for one drink before the bar closes, and the “girls” change into street clothes before they leave. They change in the bar in front of us though – there’s no changing room. It’s an opportunity to surreptitiously check out the handiwork of Bangkok’s premier cosmetic surgeons, before leaving for a coffee at the Nana Hotel, and then getting the last taxi home.
Martin and I sit up for a while remeniscing about the past two weeks, and neither of us can believe how swiftly it’s passed. I burn a couple of data CDs of my photos, movies and writings of the trip on Martin’s Powerbook, and then sleep.
