GAAN-LOR by Peter Nolan Smith

Four years ago my ex-wife came back from the country. Her entire family was with her. She checked my phone without finding any strange numbers on my phone, since I had deleted all the messages from Mint. She were ‘friends’ and Mint wouldn’t call until my ex-wife returned to Ban-Nok.

I played good man or poo-chai di and stayed with my daughter, although I caught my ex-wife on the phone with a man. He was the same one from before and I was glad she had someone, so she didn't have to have me.

Every night I drank 3-4 big bottles of Leo beers, instead the usual onslaught of 10-12 Changs at the Buffalo Bar. Sleep came around 10ish with a book steering me in the direction of Nodville.

My little compound near 3rd Road had two houses separated by an open-air garage. The larger had two bedrooms, kitchen, and TV room, in which my ex-wife, mother, nephew, sister, my daughter and niece watched a never-ending supply of Thai Soaps.

I wrote and listened to punk music in my office.

The twains met when the mobile food carts beeped their horn and my loving daughter ran to my desk with an outstretched hand.

“Twenty baht please.”

My ex-wife asked for a hundred. Her family ate like they were expecting a famine, so I keep lots of small bills in my ATM dispenser i.e. wallet.

One night the Jam were playing on the stereo Nick given me before his dreaded return to the UK. The family was mesmerized by the bootleg version of HARRY POTTER in Thai. The phone rang in my pocket. I answered without hesitation, thinking it was Mint. We hadn't spoken in a day.

“Hello tee-lat.” It was Ort.

Several of the dancers at the Paris A Go-Go said that Ort was in Singapore servicing Chinese businessmen. I had offered a silent prayer for her good luck and thanked the stars she was gone. The go-go vixen liked sex, especially if she was on Ice.

“Where are you?" I cupped my hand over my mouth. My ex-wife has big ears.

“I’m in Pattaya. you have time for me. I have Ice."

Ice and sex were a 21st Century formula for disaster. Meth didn't affect me, but I liked the ritual. At heart I was a Chatolic schoolboy, but Ort was nothing, but trouble, however the temptation or gann-lor of avenging my ex-wife's leaving me for her Thai boyfriend ran strong. She thought that I didn't know about it. I was not as big a buffalo or kwaii as I looked in her eyes, except my mother had warned that if I saw trouble coming than I should walk the other way.

For once I was heeding her advice.

“No, I’m with my ex-wife.”

“Can’t you come see me. I want you to play my master.” Ort was a masochist. She didn’t know why other than to say that she liked it rough.

“Sorry, I don’t have any money.” Feeding my ex-wife’s relatives had sapped by ‘fun’ funds.

“Not problem. I have money. Have Ice. I want you. Not have to have sex. Can only talk.”

“Talk?” The devil was trying to buy my soul for a free night of sex with a tramp and I leaned back in my chair.

Across the drive my daughter was bouncing on the sofa. Nobody would miss me for an hour or two. Least of all my ex-wife.

“I talk to you and you talk to me.” Ort’s 3rd language was 69.

The DVD of her plans played within my brain at 32 times the speed of light. She would smoke her pipe and then mount me cowboy-reverse, telling me not to move until she finished with brown eyes rolling into her skull. I was getting hard as a 40 year-old on Viagra, which was good for a 55 year-old.

‘C’mon, you know you want it.”

“Sorry, I can’t, my ex-wife is coming. Bye.” It wasn't the truth. I was faithful to Mint. She was my one true love.

I shut off my phone and went over to the TV room.

My ex-wife looked at me with a smile. She knew that her presence was unwanted, but also that she had the power to refuse me the right to see my daughter. My ex-wife was cruel.

“Good movie.” If it weren't for my daughter, I'd have left my ex-wife 5 years ago.

“Okay. You watch with us.”

“Why not?

It wasn’t like I had a choice. Trouble was where you found it. I sat on the couch and my daughter joined me to watch SID AND NANCY. My ex-wife hated the movie. She hated all things farang.

Not my daughter.

She was happy to lay her head on my shoulder.

And so was I, since it was better than any other gaan-lor in this world.

Wish I Was There # 1

Foto from Sam Royalle at Diamond A Go Go, South Pattaya. This evening. I'm half the world away. Enjoy the dancing girls, farangs.

A Deluge Of Kathoeys

The mere mention of Bangkok's Nana Plaza at a New York dinner table peaked the interest of men and narrowed women's opinion of me. To the former I was a Don Juan and the latter regarded me as Gary Glitter come to life. To be honest I can't recall ever barfining a go-go girl out of the notorious three-story sex complex on Sukhumvit Road Soi across from the ever-popular Nana Hotel. I was more into Patpong in the 90s and by the 00s, Nana Plaza was too mercenary for my tastes. The other night the Old Roue and I finished dinner at La Monita, a trendy Mexican restaurant. A meal with Coronas for two came to 1200 baht or nearly $40 or the price of a bar fine in Nana Plaza. It was early and the Old Roue suggested that we retire to a ground-floor bar at the wicked entrepot. "We can watch the changing of the guard." I was glad to get out of La Monita. The clientele was too farangs for my taste. At heart I am a race traitor. The Old Roue snaked through the parking lots and hotel garages and sidewalks to Soi Nana on his motorcycle. His nine year here has etched the short-cuts of Bangkok into his brain like a sailor's tattoo. He parked next to a cart selling sum tam. The owner nodded to the Old Roue. They had a long-term relationship. We entered the complex with flecks on rain dotting the pavement. The central cars had been moved back from the portal to provide access for fire engines. Nana Plaza and fire trap are almost synonymous, but the stars have favored the patrons and workers of the go go bars. If a fire starts there, it will only because the property is more profitable than the sex trade and Nana Plaza might have a larger GDP than Belgium. The two of us sat at the first bar. We were the only farangs in sight. It was about 7. Post time at the go go bars was around 8. "This is better than TV." The Old Roue ordered us beer. The doors to the go go bars were open. The lights were full blast to allow the bar staff to stock beer, ice, and liquor. Mama-sans stood at the door awaiting their flocks. A few early arrivals wandered into the plaza and wai-ed the Buddha blessing their entrance. They laid flowers on the altar and proceeded to their respective place of employ. "I like the transition." Five minutes before the place had been empty. Nana was coming to life with hundreds of succubii seeking farangs. "Newcomers are the first to arrive." The Old Roue had regarded this ritual thousands of times. The spectacle never tired for him. He discreetly pointed to three older and dumpy farangs in shorts. "They've left mother at home for the first time in decades to have s sex vacation with their friends. I make them for social workers or garbage men." "I see them more as English railroad workers." The sweep-overs of these forty year-olds laid odds on my being right, except they passed us speaking an unknown foreign language. "Serbs." The Old Roue wrinkled his nose. "Momma's boys to the man." "Better this than becoming sex predators." "Little danger of that from these boys. Look at how they walk." The Old Roue was right. He was 65 and I was 60. The trio shuffled with apprehension. The two of us could have beaten any of them in a 25 yard dash. "Ah, the first beautiful girl of the night." "Wrong." Old Roue shook his head. "Check the way she's hurrying and fussing with her hair. That's a kathoey. Big hands too meaning big feet." "Meaning big shoes." I picked up my camera. The ladyboy would have stopped traffic on 5th Avenue for blocks. Her heels were five-inch spikes. The dress revealed a goddess body. Long curls serpented down a slim back. I recognized her from a ladyboy website. Her name was Areeya. "No photos. Not here." Old Roue admonished my absent-minded behavior. "I know, I know." Nana Plaza had rules. We observed the influx of wasted and aged farangs. Hope and despair mingled in their eyes. I ordered another beer. Girls showed up in clumps, but they were outnumbered by kathoeys. "Where are all the girls?" "It's a Tuesday night. Most of the best girls have been barfined for the week. They're sleeping with some old git, but they'll desert him on Thursday night. It gets busy then." The Old Roue was right and I started to count the ratio between females and ladyboys. It was about 50/50 and I mentioned the numbers to the Old Roue. "It's all the same thing in the end. Farangs come here to answer a dream. Ladyboy or go-go girl. It's a young body and makes them feel immortal at the gates of mortality." The two of us turned our backs on the show. A fat heavyweight was fighting a well-muscled boxer on TV. The butterball had to weigh over 350. His reach prevented any offense from his opponent. We made a 20 baht bet with the cute bartender. She lost and actually paid me. I gave it right back. 20 baht wasn't what it used to be, but she could buy a coconut with it. The stream of late-comers faltered and music blasted from the scores of bars lining the Nana Plaza. "You feel like a go go?" I said no. It was time to call it a night. Tuesday night. Maybe on Friday night it would be different. I am not scared of kathoeys.