A Farang Strikes Back

  A Farang Strikes Back

  © Copyright 2008 by Louis Anschel

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form of by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover or other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN: 978-974-05-7282-4

  Production und Distribution:

  Bamboo Sinfonia Derek Kent and Roland Ducrot

  www.bamboosinfonia.com

  E-Mail: info@bamboosinfonia.com

  This book is based on a true story.

  Places and names were changed.

  If you recognize yourself, it is you.

  Cover photo: Praywa “Ploy” Suskawat

  By Louis Anschel

  A Farang Strikes Back

  A Snake in Paradise

  Last Exit Pattaya

  I thank Derek Kent, the author of Only 13 – The True Story of Lon for his many ideas. Without them this book wouldn’t have been possible. The same goes for friends and acquaintances who told me their story.

  Special thanks to Praywa Suskawat, the cover girl. She is from Khorat and works in Pattaya as a manager of the model agency Strategy Agency. You can reach Praywa in Pattaya via her web site www.models.strategypattaya.com, by email models@strategypattaya.com or by telephone (038) 362-410.

  Rak mak jaeb mak.

  (If you love much you will suffer much.)

  Thai proverb

  First Act

  My name is David. What else do you need to know, where I come from or how old I am? None of that matters. The story starts in December, two years ago. My vacation time was due. My wife and I decided to spend it in Thailand once again. We often went on long distance journeys. We have often been to Latin America and the Middle East–and time and again to Thailand, especially in the north. We had worked a lot and didn’t feel like a sightseeing tour. That’s why we booked a two week package holiday in Pattaya.

  The hotel was located on Jomtien Beach. As soon as I arrived, I noticed the women–again. Thai ladies are different from all of the other women whom I have seen. They are slender and petite, with legs to die for. I always tried to hide my interest in the local girls while in front of my wife.

  Sometimes, my wife and I would make excursions, but we often stayed by the beach and mostly at the swimming pool. My wife usually went to bed early, but I couldn’t. That’s why I frequently went out alone in the evenings. I took a baht bus to Second Road, got off the bus, walking to Beach Road and along the beach. Or I would window shop. Most shops are open towards the road, which allows the shopper to pick up any item and examine it. Sometimes, I sat in a bar and had a beer, but I never got too close to bargirls. Their bad reputation is legendary, and if you hadn’t read enough about the Pattaya scene and its dangers, it would be advisable to keep your hands off the bargirls. On the other hand, my wife waited in the hotel. What should I have done? Gone out with one of the girls and after one hour, gone home like nothing had happened; look my wife in the face or even slept with her? I repelled all advances and even looked for bars without women who sat on your lap after two minutes and asked for a lady drink.

  The girls on the other side of Beach Road–on the promenade–didn’t hold my interest either.

  I loved my wife–at least I thought so, and I was immune to other women including Thai women but they started to scratch my armour. But I would have never ever allowed one to come near me. Their smiles were lovely but they were prostitutes, whether in the bars or along Beach Road. They slept with foreigners for money. At home, I never had the idea of interacting with a prostitute. Why should I change my viewpoint?...Only because I spend my vacation in Thailand?

  I had sex with my wife on only rare occasions. Maybe we were together too long. And after a while you become bored. If the children have already left the house, you have no more distractions from the daily routine of work and marriage. In the evenings you come back home from work–and then? You exchange a few words and sit down in front of the television. If you are lucky you have a diner table in the kitchen and you can eat dinner together. In the worst case, you prepare a couple of sandwiches and eat in the living room while the news is on. There is nothing much left to talk about.

  First I was bored at work, then I came home and was still bored. Years ago my wife started to go to bed early. I don’t know what she did in bed. Did she sleep at once, read a book or watch TV? I didn’t care. At least I could watch the television program I wanted to see without arguments. Sports, of course. But movies, too. DVDs were my passion. Often I sat in front of my computer, browsed the internet and watched TV. I regularly went to the kitchen in late evenings and ate something. I was frustrated because I was unhappy with my life. Despite the fact that I had everything one could wish for, I was unhappy. You could see it in my weight. I weighed more than 200 pounds. I always had to buy new pants, because the old ones were too tight. And new belts–this was even worse. Every day I swore to eat less but already in the morning, I would eat like a horse.

  The only thing left were the holidays–and we looked forward for one full year. Before an upcoming vacation and during the holiday, my wife and I talked more, and we understood each other well. It was almost like in the good old days. Only her habit of going to bed early didn’t change. At home in our flat, it didn’t matter much, but not if you shared one room. I would have disturbed her with my activities. What should I have done? Gone onto the balcony and read? I did sometimes, but it was boring, especially as I had already spent the day reading thick novels at the beach. This left the evening walks. I was happy about this because I could do something on my own.

  Somehow I stretched my walks onto the sois which are located between Beach Road, Second Road and Third Road.

  Pattaya has a dirty look if you won’t call it charm–a really dirty city. Waste lies everywhere around or is deposited on the streets in black plastic bags. The roads need to be repaired, the sidewalks are bumpy–if there are even sidewalks at all. Most of the houses need to be renovated. The rendering yellows under the tropical sun, the many rainy seasons have turned white facades into grey.

  Pattaya exudes also a feeling of sin, even if this sounds strange. It is unbelievable how many working girls prostitute themselves in this city, virtually everywhere, 24 hours per day, and how many foreigners come to Pattaya because of this reason. Tens of thousands of girls and thousands of foreigners who engage in their services. Pattaya is the sex capital of the world and if one hasn’t seen it with his own eyes, what is going on in Pattaya he would never believe it. Most of the male tourists who come to Pattaya are very overweight and beyond their best years. However you can see how they walk hand in hand with a beautiful girl who could be their daughter or even grand daughter…and nobody cares. In this city it is the norm.

  I didn’t have much experience when I made my rounds and kept my own thoughts about Pattaya and the bar girls–I loved the country. I have seen much, but nothing could compare with Thailand. One day while on an aircraft–I can't remember which flight, an Australian sitting next to me asked whether I was familiar with Thailand. I told him that I wasn’t. He said “It’s beautiful”. He didn’t say why, he just said it. Many years later I understood him.

  Thailand is beautiful but it’s hard to say why. It has a special attraction. My journeys to Latin America and the Middle East were over. I knew it for sure. I wanted to spend my future holidays in Thailand if not Pattaya. This place was peculiar and fascinating, despite of or because of its bad image.

  * * *

  It all happened on the last even
ing of my stay. I went to a second-hand book shop in Soi Buakhao. On the way back I went along Soi Honey Inn and sat in a bar which I had visited quite often. The girls weren’t interested in me because they knew I would never go out with any of them. That’s why they called themselves my “friends”. I sat on a barstool and drank a beer. I looked toward the road. Next to the bar and also opposite, were massage parlours performing the same show every evening. If the masseuses weren’t giving a massage, they were dancing in the street. Huge loudspeakers stood in front of the parlours and the street was full of loud music. I asked myself why they didn’t learn from the cacophony, and form an agreement. I heard not only the music from the two massage parlours but also from the bar I was in.

  If you stayed very long in this bar, it became torture, but I took my time to nurse a beer because I liked to watch the dancing masseuses. Most of them wore tight hot pants and showed their legs. I often thought about why I was so fascinated by Thai girls. Was it their face? Sure, they were just beautiful. But beauty blurs if you see too much beauty. The girls used in my opinion too much make up. Sometimes I wondered whether other foreigners had the same opinion. That left their bodies, and these were the bodies of my dreams; delicate and slim with the typical X-form. The breast wide, the midriff small the hip wide again. Or was it their hair? I was fascinated by the bright black colour. For me it was the legs, which generated the most attraction. A pretty face and a body to die for was usually accompanied by a pair of beautiful long, and slender legs, with skin texture of silk–and I couldn’t get enough of it.

  For a while I watched the action on the road which served as a dance floor. After that I paid my bill and wanted to go to Second Road.

  The girls shouted, “Welcome Massage!” and murmured something. I understood the word “farang”. All western foreigners in Thailand are called farang. It might come from the French word „français“.

  Suddenly one of the masseuses started to run, crossed the road and gripped my arm.

  “Massage! I give you massage!”

  I didn’t like it when strangers touched me. Even if the stranger was a pretty girl. She talked to me in almost fluent English but I didn’t listen. She made a mistake. I paid her no further attention and moved on. Then, another girl crossed the street. She wore a short skirt showing her nice legs. She had a good body and long shiny black hair. She smiled and showed a glimmering row of white teeth. Her high and bold cheekbones caught my eye. She smiled all the time, when talking and when listening. I just looked at her lips with that radiant smile.

  She said, “Where you go? I go with you?”

  She giggled. She made a joke and quoted what every farang can hear every evening for a hundred times if he goes for a walk. She apologized for her friend. I looked like her ex-boyfriend. That was the reason why her friend had been so impetuous. She would have never done such a thing because she knew many men didn’t like it. The girl was extremely courteous. We talked a little bit about my holiday in Thailand but her English skills were only basic. The little bit of Thai I picked up on my journeys was anything but fluent.

  Out of the blue she asked me if I knew anybody who was willing to marry a Thai. Never mind if this person would have been older. I didn’t trust my ears. Yes, she wanted to quit her job and leave Thailand. I said I would think it over despite the fact that I didn’t know anybody who wanted to marry a Thai. She then asked if I wanted to have a massage. Not now but the next evening. I asked for her name. She said, “Som”.

  She said her name very quickly like Sommer, but without the “er”. She explained that not only in English, but also in Thai that this name has a double meaning. Som is not only the name for orange, the fruit, but also for the colour orange.

  Actually, nothing was said concerning a massage. I had never been in a massage parlour before, but I promised to come back the next evening and I would ask for Som.

  The next evening was the last night of my vacation in Thailand. My wife and I stayed near the pool the entire day because we wanted to relax one last time. In the afternoon she asked if I had some plans for the evening. I told her the truth. That’s in most of the cases the best. You tell the truth and nobody believes you.

  I said, “I have a date.”

  My wife laughed loudly. She thought I was a joker. I didn’t laugh.

  In the evening we went to a restaurant near the beach and afterwards to our room. She wanted to watch a little bit TV while I got changed. She commented that I bedizened for the evening. Didn’t she notice? I was embarrassed. Didn’t she have the slightest idea that I was going out to meet another woman? Did she trust me this much?

  I started to make my last evening round of this trip. I took a baht bus to Second Road, but paused there only a short time because I almost immediately went to Soi Honey Inn. Very quickly, I stood in front of the parlour. Som was sitting with a couple of other girls in front of the door, waiting for customers. When she saw me, she jumped up, smiled and shouted, “Khun!” You! “Where you go?”

  “I go for a walk. Or do some shopping.”

  “Why? Come inside, please.”

  She didn’t have to persuade me.

  “Thai or oil?” she asked.

  “A Thai massage, please.”

  We entered the parlour. On the left stood a desk on a floor with white tiles. At the opposite side lay some mattresses on the floor, side by side. The mattresses could be separated with blue curtains. Som closed the curtain and fixed it on its side with a couple of clothes pins. She told me the massage was 200 baht. I removed my T-shirt and shorts and wearing only my underwear lied down on my back. Som started to massage my feet and legs, and then my arms and hands. Som sat by my side or in front of my feet, massaged and smiled all the time.

  There are turning points in life. I often asked myself what would have happened if I didn’t do this or that. How would that have influenced my life? This time I stood again in front of a parting way. I could have got a massage by Som, got dressed, paid 200 baht and left. I am sure that I have sat down in the bar on the opposite side of the road to watch the dance show of the masseuses. The next day I would have boarded the airplane in Bangkok and left everything behind me. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t like this. I went the other way.

  Som became tired. She didn’t want to give a Thai massage which requires a lot of strength. I told her she could stop. Instead, she laid down beside me and put her arm around my belly. I turned to her.

  “Where do you come from?” I asked.

  “Chaiyaphum.”

  “I have never heard f it. Where is it?”

  “Isaan. Northeast.”

  In the hotel, I wanted to look on a map to see where Chaiyaphum was located, but I feared I would forget this strange name until my return in the hotel room.

  The massage hour turned into a cuddling hour. It didn’t take long until we kissed. Hookers don’t kiss, at least not in England. And this was a massage parlour and not a bar. Som was serious! We petted each other and couldn’t get enough.

  “It no good here,” she said. “They can listen.”

  Only the curtain hold by a cloth clip separated us from the rest of the massage parlour.

  “But we have room,” she said.

  We sat up I got dressed. Somewhere a hallway led into a back room. Som fetched a fan because there was no air conditioner. You couldn’t close the door to the room properly. We tried to force it shut but it didn’t work out.

  “I hope nobody come,” she said giggling.

  I had to smile. We undressed and finally lay naked side by side on the narrow mattress. We hugged each other and kissed. She told me she observed me when I sat in the bar opposite.

  “You handsome man.”

  I felt flattered. “But I am so fat.”

  “I like.”

  Her skin was soft, almost like a baby’s. When I stroked with my fingers fondly over her body, I realized that anyone would forget about all of the other women in the world once they became involved with a T
hai.

  “Mee kwam suk mai? Mee kwam suk mak.” Are you happy? I am very happy.

  “Yes I am happy,” I said.

  Joe gan mai rue bao?” Will we meet again?

  “This is my last evening in Pattaya.”

  “What? When you go?” Som asked bewildered. She was almost in tears.

  “Tomorrow. Eleven o’clock.”

  The parlour opened at twelve but Som wanted to come earlier because she wanted to see me again.

  We got dressed, while I was waiting in the room Som put the fan away. We hugged for good bye. Then she gave me a mobile phone number. She didn’t have a mobile it was the number of a friend, she said. I paid 200 baht for the massage and gave her a large tip. She didn’t ask for it. Modesty in person. I was puzzled as to why she wanted to receive 100 baht for the room which I gave her in addition to the tip.

  For the rest of the evening I wandered around the streets of Pattaya, and I knew that I experienced not only something special but also felt a drastic change in my life.

  The next morning after a false excuse, I could slip off and take a motorcycle taxi to Soi Honey Inn. Som was the only masseuse in the parlour. We hugged and kissed.

  “You like?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I like too. I feel very happy and secure.”

  There was enough evidence that she told me the truth. Last but not least, she got up early because she wanted to see me once again. And she wasn’t a bar girl. We said our good byes. It was hard. Why do you have to meet people on the last day? A fleeting acquaintance resonated like an echo throughout my entire life.

  I thought about Som often. The mobile phone of her friend was switched off very often but I was able to talk to Som twice. The second time we talked while I was waiting with my wife for our flight on the airport in Bangkok. I called from the toilet. She always told me how happy she had been and how much she missed me. On the flight back, one thing became clear: I loved Som. And we hardly knew each other. Maybe this was the reason. I didn’t know her and there was nothing I disliked. If you love somebody you overlook a lot of the idiosyncrasies, but there are still things which annoy you. Som was like a blank movie screen on which I could project all my wishes and dreams. In my fantasy she may have become the woman who she wasn’t.