In what may well be the second last installment of the Bartripping column we follow Dan’s nightmare descent into the world of sex, drugs and crappy techno music.
Being a relative newcomer to Thailand, I first arrived in September 2001, a week after the now infamous 2am closing law came in. I always thought that there would be an initial crackdown, police would be paid off and things would gradually return to normal. Almost three years on and that’s not the case and Bangkok’s famous nightlife is slowly being suffocated.
These days, when I get turfed out the door of any of the city’s glittering, hi-so nightclubs, I always have this nagging feeling that everyone else knows brilliant after-hours places, the kind of places that you need a secret password to get into. It’s kind of like the feeling that everyone else is getting laid with more frequency and better efficiency than me. Just a feeling.
Usually, my after-hours drinking consists of lock-ins in seedy pool-bars or on the streets. So when a lady-friend asked me to join her for a beer at 2am on a slab of pavement in Sukhumvit Road, I was more than pleased to join her.
After a short search through the throngs emptying out of nearby Nana Plaza, I found her drunkenly sliding off her barstool. She’d been to CM2 and was pretty much spastic by now. “Let’s go to a party, I know where there’s a good party,” she said. Looking around at the bargirls wolfing down noodles in the harsh fluorescent light I reckoned a party would be a good idea.
So into a taxi and away. On the way we stopped where my lady-friend bought 10 beers and three packets of smokes. Obviously she had a thirst on. Eventually, we pulled into a swanky soi and ascended the lift to a swanky apartment.
The party was underway in what I can only describe as a beautiful, spacious apartment. After working as a journalist for 18 months I had almost forgotten exactly what money can buy. The party must have been winding down by this time because there were only four blokes left, middle-aged, used-up looking Frenchmen as it turns out. Along with them were three young Thai girls, dancing around to the music and laughing. Not a bad party considering it was pushing four in the morning at this point, but maybe the big plate of coke on the table had something to do with it.
As we walked in, my lady-friend said, “Don’t think too much about what you see here,” just before one of the Frenchies grabbed her and started kissing her. Thinking that her advice was probably sound I went to get a beer.
The main activity at this party seemed to be snorting coke, dropping ecstasy and grabbing the girls for a quick dance before starting again. Obviously these crusty old men were wealthy enough to afford nice apartments and lots of Charlie and girls, but there was a glum sort of mood to the place. None of the camaraderie of drunks on a bender or the musings of stoners was in evidence. But still, maybe I got there too late. Maybe because I had only Bt200 in my pocket and these sleazy gentlemen had things like carpet and Bang & Olufsen stereos. But hey, at least I got the girl and the Frenchmen went home alone.