Tiger Trifecta: Three Asian Cities, One Week

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Big Mamma, Con-men, Crab Shrapnel, and a Birthday to Remember

Bangkok: Soi Cowboy

I've been to Bangkok before, but had never managed, or cared enough to make the trip to Soi Cowboy, the lady-boy / stripper district that in many ways defines Bangkok. I told Darren though that I wasn't making an decisions about his only night in Bangkok, but being Canadian, he also didn't want to have to make decisions about his only night in Bangkok. But his friend Grant suggested Soi Cowboy, then Peter and Feyette, the couple we met en route suggested it as well. So we went. It's lit up like Vegas, and has that sort of exciting unseemly feel too it. Ladies and lady-boys alike try to tempt you into their establishments, dirty old men whisper to you with offers of a ping-pong show, men lead baby elephants down the streets, lured with sugar-cane treats to interact with tourists like me. They're so cute - (Postcard to the first person that get's that reference backed up by an internet source. Not valid for Darren, who doesn't actually read the blog anyway.)

We went into a couple of places at first, drawn in by the offer of relatively cheap drinks. It turns out though that you get what you pay for on Soi Cowboy. The girls on the stage didn't look like they were enjoying themselves in the least, and paced with a kind of soporific shuffle to the music, as if lulled rather than enlivened by it. So we moved on to another place, which looked much the same, excepting that the wall artist and owner had coordinated to make hilariously misogynistic paintings upon the wall, such as one dipicting two women, looking at least decently dressed. One says , the other mournfully declaring We left quickly. We finally settled on Suzie Wong's owing to the sign featured in the blog. To much moaning by my companions I declared. "That's just Wong." I can't help it, it's a sickness.

The women their were certainly having a better time there, and it showed. Darren was more than a little uncomfortable there. I think though that one the day when you become perfectly comfortable in a strip club, is the day you've lost what little semblance of class you once had (such as the fellow behind us who leaned forward to ask Feyette if she liked spaghetti - it was a euphemism to be sure, but it left us laughing and scartching our heads for some time). The lucky fellow had Big mama, a name I'd given to the madam (I don't know if that's what you call them in a strip joint, but she was the woman in charge) take a liking to him. They brought around ping-pong balls and none of us knew what to make of it, so Peter forked out and bought five, giving one to each of us. It turned out we were meant to throw them at the excited women, who must have gotten a bonus for getting them. Big mama grabbed Darren's, put it down her shirt and was encouraging him to get it. For the rest of the evening, Darren had to use the skills of Jet Li to block her attempts to grope him. He was also rubbed up against by a drunk man, and one of the dancers walked by, and perhaps in a grope attempt, smacked him in the balls just a little too hard. He continued to point out that this had happened until I said:

The most hilarious part of the whole night was this middle aged Japanese guy who sat across from us. He had the look of a child in Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory who'd never seen so much candy in his life. It was probably true that he'd never seen so much "candy" in his life given his expression. His jaw sat agape, his eyes bulged widely with a delirious amazement, his head swung and bobbled from one gyrating bottom to a shimmying leg, to set of bobbling breasts as though he were a starving dog at the base of a dinner table; he sipped his wine but was drunk on the scene. At one point he was so consumed by the many dancers, on the other end of the room that he failed to see the woman right in front of him squatting down, nearly sitting on top of him. We laughed and whooped about it for quite a while. He never did notice.

Sticking it to the Confindence Man

The next day I decided I should take it easy, but got the urge to do at least a little sight seeing part way through the day. So I set off to see Wat Arun. On my way I ran into a fellow who claimed to work for 7-11 and was offering some friendly advice. He asked me where I was going and I told him. "Oh," he said, "you'll have to wait for 3:30. It's a public holiday today so the water taxi's are all booked with Thai people, taking them to the palace." I immediately knew where this was going, but thought I'd play the fool for a bit. Waste his time and effort that could be better used scamming an unwitting chump.

Me: "Oh, really? That's Interesting. Why is that? Is today something special?"
Thai Guy: "Yes, it's a public holiday today."
Me: "New Years in Cambodia and now a public holiday in Thailand. I have such good timing. Which holiday is that?"
TG: He might as well have told me it was fleebideefops day. He said nothing that meant anything to me.
Me: "Oh, what does that celebrate?"
TG: "What?"
Me: "Yes, what does that celebrate? Why is it a holiday? It must be for something"
TG: "Oh yes, it's a holiday for muble mumble."
Me: "Sorry, what was that?"
TG: "mumble mumble."
Me: "I'm having trouble hearing

False Advertizing
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We decided to go into this place if for no other reason than we had to find out for ourselves. It proved to be false advertizing. Thank-goodness.
you. Can you repeat that once more?"
TG: "mumble mumble."
Me: "Oh, yeah. I think I read about that."
TG (Thinking he had me): Well, since you can't go to Wat Arun for a few hours you should go with a taxi driver...like this one here. He'll take you (a man with a comically wide smile steps out from behind a pole, waiting for his cue) He'll take you to this temple of the Golden Buddha. They actually open it for only one day a year...today."
Me: "Whoa, it must be my lucky day!"
TG: "It's a free taxi ride, you just have to stop and look at this gem store so he can get free petrol."
Me: "Is that it? I don't have to buy anything?"
TG: "Nope. So you want to go now?"
Me: "Oh, I would love to, but look at the time. I have to meet some friends now. Bye."
TG: "Wait, you were just going to go all the way to Wat Arun. Now you don't have time?"
Me: "Yeah, weird eh? Bye."

Normally this scam brings you to the gem shop, where they offer you tea spiked with an agreement drug. You like tea, and you like free, so you drink it and then start agreeing to buy gems you know nothing about, handing over your credit card and buying an excellent array of quality blue glass. Cory 1 - Con Artists 0.

So I walked back the way I came, took another avenue and went along my way. Later I joined Fayette and Peter to go to the well tauted, but exhaustively exorbitant Banyan Tree Hotel bar, the Vertigo Lounge, perched atop the building's 60 stories, looking down upon the bustling cityscape. The drinks were pricy, especially by Bangkok standards, but the view was spectacular, making it worthy of a second drink. I happily found out that my spirit of choice, gin, was cheaper than most anything else on the menu. So I put in my order for a Bombay gin and tonic made the way I like it and settled into the great seat along the edge of the tower's roof (which didn't freak me out surprisingly) for a luxurious view and a round great conversation with my new-found friends.

Singapore: Attack of the Chili Crab

I had a couple of contacts in Singapore who invited me to call. They suggested I should whenever I arrived in the city. I, however, was feeling very anti-social, which happens to me as it does to others from time to time. So I decided I would quite happily spend my day on my own making as little conversation as possible with strangers. Not possible you say. Okay you're partially right, but it was minimal, which met my goal.

After my arrival at my hostel of choice I read a notice at the bottom, saying that the hostel frowned upon illegal drug deals and prostitution going on there and would not tolerate this action. It was illegal and bad for business. They were right on both accounts because I set off to find a new place to stay. This didn't take me long and I checked into a nice place, and asked the girls at the counter if they could recommend a good Indian place in Little India. One of the girls, clearly Indian herself was set abuzz by my request and gushed with excitement over the suggestion that I go to one of her favourites, Mathu's Curry Restaurant . It was good, not mind-blowing, but tasty. What was cool though was that one of the chefs taught me how to cook naan in a tandoori oven which. He looked a bit perplexed, either by my desire to know about, or my ignorance surrounding, the use them. It was very cool.

I spent the rest of my day mostly just walking around, seeking out the ideal place to find the highly recommended culinary treat, Chili Crab. It's a Singapore specialty. I wandered around the Esplanade and found that most would cost around $50 SGD. Reasonable, but not great, especially being in tourist central. It didn't take long for me to find the same dish for around $15 SGD. It was delicious, but I underestimated the strength of a crab's shell, and overestimated my spoon's and fork's tag-teaming abilities. The crab's armoured claw did break, but not without spraying me with an oil-drenched barrage of shrapnel. Ah, my new "Danger!! Mines!!" shirt. Well, I guess I'll tell people that it's a stain from a war wound; shrapnel from a mine by-passed my shirt, sliced me open, and that's why I'm wearing it. It's a warning. Besides. I wasn't willing to pay $15 to launder a shirt I paid $1.50 to purchase in the first place.

I decided, since I was enjoying my solitude to go see a movie...The Forbidden Kingdom. I figured it was appropriate to watch a Jackie Chan movie since I'd be heading to Hong Kong the next day. The trouble was finding the place. I managed to find the mall it was located in, but the enormity of the building made locating the theatre a dauting task. Even the people who worked there couldn't explain it to me. There wasn't even a language barrier, as nearly all but the elderly speak English in Singapore (it is the common official language - the linguistic glue of the island country one might say). On the contrary, they either didn't know there was a theatre in the mall, or the directions were too complex an undertaking for them to attempt an explanation. They pointed me off in vague directions. After about 10 minutes of this, I finally got close enough for one fellow to give me a complex set of instructions that included several right turns and a couple of lefts, indicated by various retail landmarks, and a set of escalators. I'm never that afraid to be lost

Chinese Temple

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This one, closed the last time I was in Singapore was open, but empty, showing no signs of life, save the smoking incense.

in a mall though. It's air-conditioned, there's plenty of food and drink, and I learned as a very young child that if you sit down and start crying some nice lady will come and help you. Fortunately it didn't come to that embarassing end. In the end I found my way, but I have received less complex directions travelling across whole countries than in that mall.

Hong Kong: Microcosm of the Universe

I'm not a big fan of big cities. Whenever I enter a city I think to myself. Oh great, buildings, streets, and sidewalks, how original. As my default, this was my initial reaction upon arriving in Hong Kong. This was quickly compounded by the fact that when I showed up on the bustling city's doorstep, there was, quite literally, not a bed available at a backpacker's rate anywhere in the city, save one at what one reviewer, an extensive traveler, called "the worst backpackers in the world." Admittedly, I was curious, but not enough to find out. So I was left with the unfortunate choice of Hotel or sleep on the airport floor. I opted for the former.

When I got to the YMCA, the cheapest hotel in town by some accounts, they told me it would be the equivalent of $150US. I blanched and wandered off to consider my options. I decided finally that it was the end of my trip, so why not. I got back - the room was gone, not a one left in the hotel. They directed me to the next cheapest hotel, which I jumped at despite being an additional $60. I didn't want to keep playing the inflation game with the hotels. It was a heavy bite, but such is life.

Bit by bit, Hong Kong began to win me over. I'm still not sure I could live there, in as much as being lost, surrounded by Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, Hugo Boss, and the like, with posters of emaciated women holding bags with straps twice as girthy as their arms is about as close to my idea of hell as possible. That said, it is beautiful, mostly airconditioned, and has a sort of frenetic energy that gives it a life I haven't seen elsewhere. I thought the universe an fitting comparison for the city. It sparkles at night, matter flies around at speeds hard to comprehend, and there's a black hole at the centre, from which no money can escape. Still I'm a fan, if a reluctant one.

My 31st Birthday in HK

It was, to start, a pretty unremarkable 31st birthday in Hong Kong. I had started off by sleeping in. I figured with the great bed I'd paid far more than I'd expected for, I should stay in it as long as possible. I came out, unfortunately with several dozen bed-bug bites. Oh, the irony of it all. They were, however, high class bed bugs, and I take solace in knowing that I was for that night the Grey Pupon of bed-bug meals. I checked out, and checked into a more reasonably priced hostel for my remaining budget, and set out to explore. I walked around the park, had a great lunch at an organic vegetarian restaurant, went to the library to check email, and treated myself to a massage, but by time the evening rolled around I was starting to feel lonely and wishing I was home, spending my birthday with my friends rather than walking around a city in which I knew not a soul.

It was about this time that I stopped in Soho for a beer, and as I drank mournfully from the bottle, I was overcome, as I so often am on the road, by my need to make chit-chat with a couple sitting close to me on the stairs outside of the bar Aussie bar. They soon waved me over and we began talking. A few beers later I was already feeling it (no dinner and a light drinking year have made me a lighter-weight), and they took me out to this GREAT French jazz club to listen to some live music. I had such a good time.

After about an hour, some girls showed up and sat down across from us. I smiled at one of them as she sat down, noticing what perfect hair she had (an unusual feature for me to notice...it's usually the eyes or the smile - which I might add were stellar too). It was one of those movie moments when time slows. As Venus strikes fast in the twilight sky, shining brightly while the other stars in the galaxy wait in the wings for the sun to fade, so to did she shine with a singular beauty, alone

Why Hong Kong? Why?

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What purpose could you possibly have for numbering so many urinals? Maybe it's for maintenance purposes, or maybe it's like a lottery system, and you hope to hell the guy in front of you doesn't have stones.

and radiant in the twilight universe of that lively little lounge. Cupid spared me no arrows, raining them down upon me without mercy.

We danced together for the better part of 3 hours, and they brought me along with them to another club for a short time before they had to leave. They had to work, or something. I had planned to take a bus back to my hostel, but she explained that the buses stop running at 1:00. Damn you and your relativity Einstein. It was three O'clock, and I had to be up in four hours if I was going to catch the Big Buddha and my plane.

It was a great night, and a great birthday. It was so nice to meet a woman to inspire me, if only for the tiniest sliver of time. Was she single, who knows. It didn't occur to me to ask. She may have been, she may have been married, or a lesbian, thought I was a douche. I doesn't matter. If I thought I'd ever see her again, I'd admit love at first sight - hopelessly and unabashedly romantic as I am. But I am tempered by the practicality of a cynical culture. Bless the Italians for their impracticality in these matters. For if I were a Roman, this may have proved a different sort of tale. But then again, it should likely have ended in tears (as Italian tales are wont to do) instead of a single perfect, albeit fleeting, moment in the extraordinarily beautiful life I am living.

And this is where I will leave you....for now.

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