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“City of angels, great city of immortals, magnificent city of the nine gems, seat of the king, city of royal palaces, home of gods
incarnate, erected by Vishvakarman at Indra's behest.”
This
city’s name is listed in the Guinness World Records as the world's longest
place name.
However the Thais (Siamese), being a practical people, shortened the city’s name to Krung Thep Maha Nakhon , or simply Krung Thep, which equates to Bangkok in English. That has also acquired the nickname "Sin City of Asia," for its level of sex tourism.
I promise, dear reader, to return to the subject of sex tourism, after
we take a slight detour to Bangkok’s International Airport.
During the period I operated at this airport, 1983 to 2000, it was called Don Mueang and was owned by the RTAF (Royal Thai Air Force).
It possessed two parallel runways, in the neighborhood of 12,000 feet in length, which ran southwest and northeast (210°/030° magnetic). Its most outstanding feature was the fact it had a RTAF golf course right smack in the center of this international airport.
I kid you not, dear reader, it ran down the middle of the space between the parallel runways; having no barrier, fence or wall surrounding it. A golfer could merely step off the green onto a runway.
The only thing to stop a golfer was a red light, which meant an aircraft
was taking off or landing.
No teeing-off,
or wandering on the runway, when the red light was on. “FORE!”
As for the Thai air traffic controllers they were hands down the
best. I attribute this to the fact that throughout the Vietnam War,
Don Mueang was a major command and logistics hub of the United States Air
Force. By their American accents, and their ability
to radar vector and stay ahead of the game, these Thai controllers were
obviously the product of good old USAF training.
And this, dear reader, brings us happily
back to the subject of sex tourism.
Hooray!
Why Bangkok? Because at the height of the Vietnam War,
with 570,000 US troops, the US ran seven air bases, plus a navy and army base
in Thailand; all launching missions into Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. It’s being a logistical hub allowed literally
thousands of lonesome, bored and battle weary GIs to descend on Bangkok for
“R&R.” Thus sexual tourism was
born. Eureka!
The best way I can sum up my experiences
in Bangkok, dear reader, can be found in the lyrics of the song: “One Night In
Bangkok.”
One night in
Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough
guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your
company
I can feel the Devil walking next to
me
In other words, dear reader, never trust
your eyes in Bangkok...nothing is ever as it appears.
My personal favorite red light district was Patpong, which consisted of two parallel side streets running between Silom Road and Surawong Road, and designated “Patpong Soi One” and “Patpong Soi Two.” Both were loaded with restaurants, bars, go-go clubs and short-time hotels.
Patpong Soi One, being the widest street, was
also closed to vehicular traffic at 6:P.M. when a portable night market was set
up; selling everything from knock-off clothing, to handbags, watches, jewelry, videos,
etc. Every night on these two streets is
New Year’s Eve; mobbed with loads of tourists.
At this period the “King’s Group” ran roughly
a dozen go-go bars and massage parlors in this area; employing a thousand
girls. Their establishments were clean, well-organized
and avoided ripping off the customers.
They also employed doctors to give all the girls weekly checks for STDs;
the girls being issued pink cards, indicating their most recent checkup, for
the customer’s inspection.
For a twenty-year stretch I remained
strictly a “King’s Group” customer, and never caught so much as a common cold
from any of these beautiful dancers.
Technically prostitution is illegal in
Thailand; except usually this law is ignored for two reasons: #1. The cops are
paid off by the bar. #2. Thailand’s
agricultural industry would collapse if the law was enforced.
After such a claim, dear reader, you’re no doubt thinking I’m hitting the bourbon again. What on earth does the Thai agricultural industry have to do with a lovely Thai go-go dancer selling her body?
Well, let’s take a moment and examine the
average Thai lady involved in this occupation.
How old is she, and where does she come from? Usually she’s in her early twenties and fresh
off a farm up-country. She’s paid a more
than adequate salary by the bar, and collects handsome tips from the customers;
all tax-free. Unlike her American and
European counterparts, she’s no imbecile and doesn’t slam junk up her arms or
nose. Instead, she’s immaculately clean
and polite. So what does she do with her
money? Her devotion to Buddha and
family, requires the bulk of her income to go straight back to her family. So her brothers and sisters can attend
school, and the family can purchase another water buffalo, or rai of land, in
order to produce more rice. This is why
Thailand, each year, is the foremost exporter of rice in Asia.
But
don’t take my word for it, dear reader; upon visiting your local supermarket,
check out the bags of rice. And consider
that cute, sweet, clean and polite, little Thai girl, in a G-string, sweating
off her perfect buns on a chrome pole in a go-go bar, when you discover rice
exported from Thailand.
Two words of caution though, dear reader.
Caution One: Beware of the Thai Kathoey. This is quite literally a woman born in a
Thai man’s body. After the miracle of
drugs and plastic surgery – they are transformed to a stunning woman! Over the years I’ve been fooled often. Never trust your eyes in Bangkok.
Caution Two: Never marry a Thai go-go dancer or bar
girl. I don’t care how greatly in love
you think you are, dear reader. Understand
that eighty-five percent of the marriages ends in disaster, with children of
mixed race being left behind as wreckage in your wake.
Conversely, as an addendum, dear reader,
let me state that on very rare occasions, I’ve been known to be wrong. Here is one of those extremely rare exceptions
to the rule:
A young American graduated from one of the
first CIA (Central Intelligence Agency) classes and was assigned to Asia in
1951. He wound up training and organizing the Thai Border Patrol Police, a paramilitary force responsible for border security and counter-insurgency.
When the Vietnam War broke out, our CIA
Agent was naturally reassigned to the “secret war” in Laos, dispensing weapons
and cash to Humong Tribesmen fighting Vietnamese Communists infiltrating Laos. He engaged in this activity from 1961 to 1968,
during which he also married a Thai bar girl. This union produced a “luk kreung,” a
beautiful, Thai-American daughter.
After the 1973 truce, our ex-CIA Agent
returned to Bangkok and retired on his pension.
He then concentrated on properly raising and educating his “ha-sip-ha” (fifty-fifty)
daughter; who would ultimately graduate from UC Berkeley, and get hired by
United Airlines as a flight attendant. While
his marriage ran its course; ending in divorce.
On the
night of 24th February 1989, a United 747 departed Honolulu at 1:52
AM, bound for Auckland with 337 passengers, three cockpit crew and 15 flight
attendants. Originally beginning service
by United in 1970, this 747 was worn-out and tired from constant use. Recently it had developed problems with
closing its forward cargo door, due to metal fatigue and latching incorrectly.
Sixteen minutes after takeoff, while
climbing past 22,000 feet, the forward cargo door blew out with such force it
ripped open the right side of the fuselage above it, leaving behind a 10 X 15-foot
hole! The violent pressure differentials
of the aerodynamic forces caused the cabin floor to collapse, ripping loose ten
seats which were sucked out of the cabin.
Eight of those seats were still occupied. A ninth passenger’s seat belt also failure -
whereby he was sucked out and fed into the number three engine – the turbine
blades slicing his body to dog food. At
least his demise was instantaneous, unlike that of his wife’s and the other
seven passengers, which took them four minutes to fall to their deaths while strapped
in their seats.
Hey, what can I say, dear reader, these
are the risks one takes when flying the “Friendly Skies” of United.
Hold the
phone; let’s examine the 747’s tail section of the cabin, where it’s dark and
filled with fog, from the breathable, pressurized air rushing out of the
cabin. Our ex-CIA Agent’s Flight Attendant
daughter is there, and has dropped to all fours, as she desperately fights to
stay conscious while fumbling with the “walk-around” oxygen bottle to connect
its mask. The departure of the cargo
door had also damaged the passenger’s emergency oxygen deployment system. Hence no “rubber jungle” dropped from the
cabin’s ceiling (rubber oxygen masks and tubing).
By this time the captain’s diving the 747
to a breathable altitude, and is banking back for Honolulu. So our girl is not only blind, but also
fighting the G-loads in the dark and fog, as she gets the oxygen bottle’s mask
hooked up, takes several deep swigs to clear her head, and then clamps her mask
onto the Japanese Flight Attendant who’s passed out beside her.
Getting the Japanese girl conscious, and strapped to another oxygen
“walk-around” bottle, she tells her to go get the other flight attendants
conscious and up and running. And that’s
exactly what these two girls do – getting their colleagues on oxygen so they in
turn can help all the passengers who desperately need oxygen - by releasing the
passenger’s oxygen masks in the ceiling.
Despite the fact the 747 subsequently lost
two of its four engines, from debris ingested by the engines, they eventually make
it back to Honolulu (the old girl flies reasonably well on only two engines).
The following year, our ex-CIA Agent’s daughter finds herself in court, being cross-examined by the lawyers suing Boeing and United. The attorneys are prompting her to say Boeing’s emergency equipment is faulty, and United’s emergency training is inadequate. Our Thai/American girl is not an idiot; she remains calm, cool and neutral - resulting in United making her the “heroine” of UAL Flight 811. Now she gets anything she wants: advancement, bases, routes, holidays off, or whatever.
As for her father, the ex-CIA Agent, he’d become a full blown alcoholic, living at the Madrid Tavern, on Patpong Soi One, in Bangkok.
However, in the spring of 1999,
I was sitting in a booth, having lunch at the Derby King Restaurant, on Patpong
Soi One, when I saw him pass by outside on his way to the Madrid Tavern. At first I didn’t recognize our ex-CIA Agent,
because he had dropped 50 pounds, and didn’t appear as the usual rummy-drunk I
was used to. He looked alert, clear-eyed,
sharp and healthy. What the hell?
Upon further investigation, I discovered his daughter had shown up at the Madrid Tavern, with two husky, ex-college, football player flight attendants, and the three of them kidnapped her dad! Ignoring his struggling protests, they physically placed him on a UAL first class flight back to San Francisco, and thence into rehab.
Thanks to his Thai-American daughter,
years were added to our ex-CIA Agent’s life.
Forgive me, dear reader, for not using
names. In the interests of
self-preservation, I elected not to do so.
For you see our ex-CIA Agent was also used as a “button man” by the “Company”;
racking up twelve confirmed kills.
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