Lola

So, I can cross Walking Street in Pattaya off my bucket list.

I came. I saw. I drank. I left.

I came. I saw. I drank. I left.

Walking Street is a bar district on speed.  I sampled just a few of them.  More of the same really, just more of it.  How many gals can you watch dancing in a bikini (or less) before it gets old.  My tolerance seems to be approximately one beer.

Oh my!

Oh my!

Actually, this is low season.  And a Tuesday night.  The ratio of bargirls to customers was probably 5-1 in the joints I visited.  Even the street was relatively empty.  I’ve been reading online that the bars are really struggling.  The Chinese are visiting by the busload, but they are just looky-loos, didn’t see any of them partaking of the nightlife–just photographs from the street.

As regular readers know, I much prefer sitting at a street side table with a cold beer and watching the people go by.  I was pretty surprised to see western men with their American-sized gals checking out the night life.  I can only imagine what was going through their heads (him: I could have this instead of that!, her: oh these poor exploited women, these bars must be closed forever!).  Ah, but who knows?

Which reminds me of the time I was sitting at a bar and these two largish women were talking in what sounded like a Scottish accent.  Being friendly, I asked “are you ladies from Scotland?”.  I got a dirty look and a snide “no, Wales”.  I politely responded, “sorry, are you whales from Scotland?.  Bada bing!

There was something on walking street to cater to every demographic.  Russian bars, Indian nightclubs, and of course the infamous “ladyboy” clubs.  Being both open minded and curious, I ventured into one called Katoeys are Us.  I sat down and ordered up a beer. I got big smiles and waves from all the dancers on stage.  There was one “gal” across the room who challenged me to a stare fight.  Or so it seemed.  I lost so called her over for a drink.  She was quite lovely actually and had a beautiful smile to compliment her overly large and obviously fake breasts.  Given our lack of a common language and my nervousness as she started rubbing my thigh, that’s as far as the conversation went.  I downed my beer and headed back out to the relative safety of Walking Street.

In my haste to escape I realized that I had failed to empty my bladder.  I *almost* made it to another bar’s restroom, but did experience some leakage before I could relieve myself.  I was embarrassed by a fairly obvious wet spot on my blue jeans so I began to make my way home.  I took the Beach Road route figuring it would be less crowded and dark enough to hide my shame.  Was surprised at the number of free lance prostitutes I encountered there.  Some were quite attractive but I’m even less interested in street hookers than I am of the gals who ply their trade from the go-go bars.  I quickly crossed the road and discreetly sat at an outside table at Hooters where I enjoyed watching them ply their trade over a beer and chicken wings.

Yesterday I took a nice long walk (24,000 steps) and worked up a good sweat.  Decided to stick close to home for my nighttime activities.  So many bars, so little time!

"Fcuk Inn. Liquor in the front. Poker in the rear". Gotta give 'em props on the creativity, but I never actually went inside to partake of either.

“Fcuk Inn. Liquor in the front. Poker in the rear”.
Gotta give ’em props on the creativity, but I never actually went inside to partake of either.

I did have a couple of beers at a street side bar and enjoyed watching the katoey’s in a bar across the road work hard at trying to entice passerby to come inside for a unique experience.

Good luck with that!

Good luck with that!

I had heard that you really couldn't tell the difference. Taller than normal, lots of makeup, fake tits are all tell-tale signs. Still, many are quite attractive and I have no issues with folks who go for that kind of thing. Me? I'm a lesbian trapped in a man's body. I only like women.

I had heard that you really couldn’t tell the difference. Taller than normal, lots of makeup, fake tits are all tell-tale signs. Still, many are quite attractive and I have no issues with folks who go for that kind of thing. Me? I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. I only like women.

In my wanderings, I came across another creatively named bar:

I'm no Donald Trump but I grabbed a beer here anyway...

I’m no Donald Trump but I grabbed a beer here anyway…

Turns out the name of the bar was intended to be ironic. Or so it appeared. Actually, I quite enjoyed chatting with Gee. She was kind enough to let me use some mosquito repellent for my legs, I reciprocated with a drink for her. It was nice to have a decent conversation in English, although we confined ourselves to topics like travel and the relative merits of vaping versus smoking. Definitely a girl with something extra!

Turns out the name of the bar was intended to be ironic. Or so it appeared. 
Actually, I quite enjoyed chatting with Gee. She was kind enough to let me use some mosquito repellent for my legs, I reciprocated with a drink for her. It was nice to have a decent conversation in English, although we confined ourselves to topics like travel and the relative merits of vaping versus smoking. Definitely a girl with something extra!

Today I’m heading back to Bangkok to finish out my holiday in Thailand.  Later I’ll post my impressions and observations of Pattaya overall.  The community, not the bars.  Promise!

Well, I’m not the world’s most physical guy, but when she held me tight she nearly broke my spine, oh my Lola.

Well I’m not dumb but I can’t understand why she walked like a woman but talked like a man, oh my Lola.

 

4 thoughts on “Lola

  1. mister monger, your post got me thinking about chicks with dicks. in fact, I was thinking about it a little more than any heterosexual man should. at first I was a little repulsed by it but then the pragmatic side of me kicked in. ya hookup with a chick with a dick and no more catching hell for leaving the toilet seat up. no more ,”yobo, while you’re at Kroger buying beer pick me up a box of tampons”. no more, “yobo, my period is late.” bottom line is that chicks with dicks rule. thank-you mister monger. Peace out!

  2. Good points, Soju.

    For the record, I’m no monger. I’m merely an observer, not a participant!

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