Soi 4, Sukhumvit

Arthur is back in Bangkok. Alone. Dao has gone back to the village. He doesn't mind being on his own. Gives him a chance to visit some old haunts.

He’s having a pretty good day so far. He woke with a mild hangover in the Crown Hotel, took a shower without any fatal slippages and managed to get dressed without snagging any tackle. He did catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror at one point but it was just a glimpse…not something to linger on.

He negotiated the gauntlet of sidewalk vendors not in the least tempted by the array of porn DVDs, flick knifes, knuckle dusters, David Beckham T-shirts, mountains of Gucci luggage, and fried grasshoppers. He dropped a few baht in some beggar’s cups. Amazing Thailand indeed. Arthur is amazed that he ever found it amazing.

And now we find him on Soi 4 Sukhumvit in the Golden Bar at a table overlooking the street enjoying his first beer of the day and feeling quite pleased with himself. He needs to replace some of the liquid lost on the short journey from the Crown.

Of course his mind isn’t a total blank. He's thinking about the novel he intends to write one day. Why not? Everybody in Bangkok is writing one.

Arthur observes the other customers. The usual cross-section of Bangkok humanity.

Middle-aged farang, young Thai wife loaded with gold, couple of lukrungs (offspring of Thai/farang relationships) Yet another group of plump young Englishmen, cropped hair, football shirts….they just keep coming.

There they all are, middle-aged expats and Thai girls mostly, talking, laughing and doing all the things people do. Over the years Arthur has become quite adept at blending in. He has listened to more instantly forgettable bar room banter than he cares to remember. He can nod and chat, even guffaw, with the best of them. 

A waitress rubs herself beguilingly, or so she hopes, at Arthur’s thigh. She's wasting her time.

Arthur sees nothing attractive about the girls….unlike a large farang who has just ensconced himself at the next table. Just in from Afghanistan most likely and a man who clearly loves Thailand if the cluster of Buddhist amulets on a gold chain round his neck mean anything. He wais the girls and they move in like grinning piranhas, he buys drinks all round, the music is cranked up, the girls wave their arms above their heads, it’s party time, happy happy.

Arthur watches all this and wonders about the futility of it all. How do they keep doing the things they do? Is it all just hormones? Survival at its most elemental. His own libido seems to have taken an extended holiday wherever libidos go.

A small boy approaches with a round shiny object.  ‘10 baht,’ says the young salesman.

A moral compass probably thinks Arthur. People are always losing them round here. He declines.

A haggard looking woman with somebody’s baby dangles a Styrofoam cup in front of Arthur’s face, another small boy is doing a trick with coins, sticking them up his nostrils but Arthur is wise to that one, make eye contact and you’re lost. The third beer is kicking in, he concentrates on the street which is becoming nicely blurred.

The feeding frenzy is over, the large farang has made his selection, the other girls disperse in search of new victims.

At this point Arthur needs to make an urgent visit to the toilet. He enquires as to its location and is directed towards a small tile lined cubicle with a door that almost closes completely. It’s the squat type but he’s in no position to choose. Word soon gets around among the local mosquito population that he will be lowering his defences. Fortunately it doesn’t take long and the rest is a simple resolved with a bucket of water and a scoop.