Gay Boy Thailand

Not

The Royal Thai Consulate in Penang decided, in their infinite wisdom, that I should not get another tourist visa to Thailand.

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Thai Immigration received a new computer system worth millions of dollars from the Americans recently. This was so Thailand could keep track of shady people.

I consider myself as fairly shady.

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I met a rickshaw driver on the street. He said:
- You wan lovely lady 18 year? I bring your hotel room.

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I was in bed for many hours, staring at the clock on the table. I was getting up at 4.30 am to catch an early flight to Malaysia. So of course I could not sleep. The pressure of needing to sleep was enough to make me sleepless.

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Three days in Pattaya was enough. Then I went home to Chalerm in Bangkok, which was a relief after the high-pressure atmosphere of Pattaya.

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Saturday afternoon I went to Komtar in Penang to have a look at the gay boys. Surely there must be gay boys?

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In Chulia Street, the backpacker and restaurant area in Penang, I normally avoid the samlor drivers and their persistent offers. But a reader of this blog had told me that if I spoke to them maybe I could get info about the local gay life.

So I spoke to one of them. This was not one of the geriatric ones, but a middle aged Malay Muslim man who spoke good English. He started with unsolicited offers of massage and girls, and after a warm up of this I said:
- Any boys here?
- Oh sure, said the driver without missing a beat. – I find nice boy for you. No problem. We go look.
- How much for the trip?
- 30 ringit for one hour. (= 300 baht)

Off we went. It was close to midnight but because of the Chinese New Year holidays many people were still out in the streets, eating and drinking and chatting. The evening was mild, 22 C perhaps, and the air clear without the pollution that chokes Bangkok.
- I am heavy, I said. I felt sorry for the man who had to pedal me around.
- No problem, said the driver. – Sometimes I take two people.
- I am two people, I said.
- Yes, said the driver.
- Where are we going?
- I take you to beach. Have boys there who walking. Walking back and forth. Looking. Can find lovely boy for you. No problem.

I count as two Asians

The bicycle taxi went down to the old British fort and what I had read on Utopia was a cruisey area around a park. There were few people. 3-4 young men sat around a table near a parking lot. We arrived at the beach promenade and the driver said:
- You like him?
- Who?
- This one.
The gentleman on offer was a 30something who was helping someone to park a car outside a restaurant. He looked straight, unhealthy and rough. I would not be surprised to see him in a prison cell.
- Never mind, I said.
- No?
- I don’t think so.
- OK. I find nice boy for you. No problem. We go back to the park.

Back in the parking lot a chubby Chinese guy around 30 had parked his car and was crossing the road. The samlor driver rang his bell. The Chinese man didn’t seem to understand what the issue was and kept walking. The samlor driver went after him.
- Never mind, I said, worried that Mr. Chubby was just someone who was passing by.
- You not like him?
- Never mind, I said again.
- Ok, said the driver. – Not worry. You are here for holiday. I will make you happy. You are my customer. I will find someone you can have a good time with.
- That’s nice, I said.
The samlor driver pedalled back to the restaurant. He shouted something to another Malay man who was standing outside. A loud discussion in Malay followed. I was embarrassed. It was my sexual preferences they were shouting about across the road. So much for Islamic sensitivities.

The samlor made another turn on the road. The Malay man from the restaurant went inside and came out again with a skinny late 20ies Chinese guy who wore a white shirt. I apologise for the crude nickname I have for him, but the moment I saw him the name “Mr. Ratface” stuck in my mind.
- Him in white shirt, said the samlor driver. – You like him?
- Keep going, I said. I didn’t want to stop and have to talk to Mr. Ratface.
- He is 20 years old, said the driver.
- Really? He looks older.
- Yes. He works hard so he looks older.
It is more likely Ratface is on hard drugs, I thought to myself.
- You want him? asked the driver. – He is experienced.
- No thank you, I said.
This ended the beach promenade section. We went back to town.
- This pub is good, said the driver.
- Is it?
- Yes. Have boys there. Easy to get.

The place looked like nothing special, some tourists sat outside on the pavement and some locals sat inside an Irish-style pub, but I made a mental note to go back some time.
- These boys you talk about, are they Malay? I asked.
- Most of them are Chinese.
- They like the money?
- Yes. 30-40 ringit. They will come to you. No problem.
The driver went by Komtar, the shopping centre. There was nothing to see there either.
- Can you take me back now? I asked.
- OK, said the driver and we went downhill to Chulia Street.
- You want to eat or drink? asked the driver, hoping for a restaurant kickback.
- Never mind. I will go back to the hotel to sleep.
- Next time I find boy for you, ok? said the driver.

I was out of Malaysian ringit. The driver said I could give him Thai baht instead but he gave me 7 baht to the ringit. At the airport it was closer to 10. I felt somewhat ripped off, both for the exchange rate and the lack of the promised gay life. The three boys he had showed me were all straight and none of them would have survived in a Thai flesh market, not even in the darkest soi. But I didn’t regret the samlor trip. Now I had seen Penang by night.

1. I am in Malaysia but my mind is still in Bangkok. I woke up this morning and realised I had forgotten to buy plastic boxes for the fridge at home. Chalerm has some nasty smelling food. I put a bottle of eyedrops in there. When I needed it again the bottle smelled of the food. Then my fingers smelled from handling the bottle. This stink is like a living entity. Chalerm and the Queen of SSK test-smelled my fingers and agreed “menn!” (bad smell).

2. I saw a suprising number of ladyboys in Penang yesterday evening. Three of them spoke English to the food vendors and Thai among themselves. Hookers here are fond of the phrases “hello daaling” and “psst” when I walk past them on the street. Psst? Since when do people say psst for real? I thought that was cartoon language.

3. I notice the difference between the religions here. Most of the Muslim women have their head covered. They are Malay. The Buddhist Chinese girls, on the other hand, walk around in mini-minis that are skimpier than anything I see in Bangkok. It is as if the Chinese are saying “we are not Muslim so we don’t give a damn”.

4. I have confessed to Farang Dee that I may be over my head with this web design thing. I asked him if I could consult with or hire a programmer. - Do whatever it takes, said Farang Dee. Then he began talking about a booking database for realtime reservations on the net, and about secure credit card payment. OK, if he has the money I can make it happen. I will speak to my pal in Farangland, Mac the computer guru, about how to proceed.

5. I suffer from consumer angst. Canon, Pentax, Minolta, Nikon, Sony… the market for digital cameras is confusing. Brands go bust. Now Sony will start to make cameras which can take Minolta lenses. Maybe I should wait for that.

6. I had a taxi driver yesterday who gave off different vibes from the others. He had a black beard. He drove with gloves on his hands in 30 C heat. He had a gold watch on the steering wheel. When he turned the watch was upside down. He gave me penetrating stares in the mirror, several times. I felt uneasy. There was something territorial and dominating about this guy. This was unusual for an Indian, I thought. But then I saw his nose and wondered if maybe he wasn’t Indian. His mobile phone rang and he said “The VCD? Push the purple button”. When I arrived at my hotel he said “Sorry about that phone call”. “Never mind”, I said, thinking this was the first time any taxi driver in Asia had apologised for answering the phone. His name plate revealed that he was an Arab.

I went into a camera shop here in Penang with my 1973 Canonet around my neck. The Chinese owner looked at me as if I was complete idot to use such a museum piece. He showed me a Nikon while saying as if to a child “This is a DIGITAL camera”. I was supposed to say “DIGITAL? Oh wow!”

The Canonet is a perfect travel camera. It is small and not worth much. If someone wants to steal it I can get another one for 30 $ on ebay.

Thanksin wants Thailand to be the shopping hub of Asia, if not the world, but the cameras are more expensive in Bangkok than here. After haggling I can save around 20%.

I am on another visa run. I had to get up at an ungodly hour. Chalerm was sleeping and I didn’t wake him.

Downstairs the security guard was having his morning bath. He was dressed in a towel and used water from a bucket. I haven’t seen him like this before. He has a nice bod for a 40something.

Penang: I am writing this from the 2nd Internet cafe I have been to today. The first was full. That is, the lady behind the counter told me to sit down at a computer where nobody sat but a game was on the screen and a school bag was left on the floor. I hesitated, but the lady motioned for me to sit.
A schoolboy sitting next to me said: Hae? as I took his friend’s chair.
Another schoolboy, whose game it was, came and also said: Hae?
The lady turned off the game and Internet Explorer came up.
- No no, I am not taking his computer, I said, feeling ill at ease about how the kid was bumped off.
Then I left and went to another Internet cafe. This one was also full of kids but I didn’t have to expell anyone to check my email.

I should bring a gift to Chalerm when I return to Bangkok. I saw the airline had a stuffed toy airplane with logo. Chalerm is NOT too old for stuffed toys. He will love it.

Meanwhile I am enjoying the Islamic Republic of Malaysia. I expect that tonight the waitress of a restaurant I usually go to will have forgotten I was here before, and chat me up. She will linger until I make it clear I don’t want her services after closing hour. I also expect the Indian hookers to loudly offer their services from dark corners.

Is there no wholesome moneyboy business here? It isn’t visible, but I suspect that things go on out of view. I wonder what would happen if I told one of these pesky over the hill ladies what my taste is.