Having become jaded with the boozing on offer in Bangkok, Dan & Andy travel to the Far East in search of new pleasures. In this case the Far East means Aranyaprathet, where the sweltering rice-paddies of Thailand meet the sweltering rice-paddies of Cambodia.
Streetside restaurant, 7:28pm
Andy: Beer and food were first on the agenda as I’m always nervous in new surroundings without these two essentials. I was also none too thrilled about being in a small town with a clown like Dan; the walls have eyes in these places and the blades of a combine harvester are sharp. A couple of long-necks (the bottle, not the tribe) and some tom yum mellowed my mood slightly, but I was a little concerned by the Farang freak show in downtown Aran – a show in which my simple friend and I appeared to be the stars. Still the food was great and the waitress was naturally giving me the eye. She didn’t speak a word of English, but that’s fine by me, as I’m fluent in the language of love.
Dan: Having been to Aran many times before, I was naturally a veteran of entertaining myself here in the evenings, waiting for the border to open on the morrow. As a host to Andy, who rarely sets foot outside Krung Thep, I took him to the finest street side eatery in town. Trips to the countryside are always a treat for the simple food, kindly village folk and naïve virgins. A shy smile from even the sleaziest foreigner will have these beauties sliding off their seats and kicking themselves the next day. Probably the highlight of this restaurant was watching Robocop dubbed in Thai. Mediocrity knows no bounds.
Aran Garden 1, 8:39pm
Dan: 8:30 is too early to paint the town red, even in the sticks, so we retired to our backpacker box to liquor up for the night. We had got a twin room for the benefits of TV and price at the cost of privacy. In Aranyaprathet, TV keeps you entertained but privacy gets you nowhere. Being an arty type and not owning a television receiver, having one was something of a novelty. As we drank and channel-surfed we planned to watch Octopussy at 8:30 — Deli time. Ripper! To fill in the two hours in between, there was Iron Blade, a hilariously campy Conan-style film that I am convinced was made in Italy and an Anime Mr Bean, interrupted by infomercials for electric tummy-toners, retailing at 1,400 rupees. Colour me entertained.
Andy: A sure-fire recipe for insanity: Sang Som and Indian TV. Our room was indeed very much like the cell of a sanatorium. Provincial sloppiness is acceptable for Dan perhaps, but not for a high-flyer like me. After polishing off a bottle of Thailand’s finest there was only one thing for it – make drunken fools of ourselves in the town; after all, we’d be leaving the next day.
Climax Club, 11:58pm
Andy: The main form of Friday night entertainment in Aranyaprathet appears to involve drunken young men careering around on motorbikes (minimum two per vehicle), shouting ‘hello!’ and then pulling a barely controlled wheelie into the darkness. Entertaining as this was for all of 10 seconds, it didn’t bode well for the evening. We eventually found a club though, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was actually quite plush – strange that a small town in Thailand had such posh looking venue. I thought of the kind of ex-working Man’s club, dingy, beer and puke-stained carpeted shitholes that you would find in my home country in a similar small town. Despite the sophisticated décor, the music was Thai-pop-terrible and the only girls seemed to be under guard by their elder brothers.
Dan: This huge club next to the bus station had always piqued my curiosity but of course I was always too scared to go in. It was surprisingly nice inside – stylish, relaxed and relatively clean. But it was a complete sausagefest! No climaxing going on around here, but maybe there is a massive Gay movement all along the Thai-Cambodian border and they were all here tonight. I think all the daughters of Aran are locked up after dark, or maybe they heard we were in town. The mediocre band on stage was called Mr King and as Andy and I stormed out they were playing “Happy Birthday”. Quite a disappointment!
Nameless Restaurant a short stagger from Club Climax, 1:30am
Andy: If all else fails, more food and more beer will do the trick. Despite my by then, ‘pissed out of his head Farang’ appearance, I even managed to score the phone number of a waitress. I began to warm to these country girls. Unfortunately no roll in the hay was to be had that night and all I woke up with in the morning was a pounding head and a smelly, pasty-faced Aussie in the bed opposite.
Dan: The night must not die until the last drunk is spilt is my motto, ask anyone. Andy and I were attracted to the bright lights and thatched roof of a nearby live-music restaurant. The usual assortment of musicians who wouldn’t know a distortion pedal if it kicked them in the nuts, and a handful of sleepy guests. Andy was throwing out the big city love vibe (a common habit among the intoxicated) and our waitress was catching it in handfuls. The 2am close applies even this far out, but it looked like we were invited to a little “after hours private party” that in the countryside of any nation always translates to “squalid shag in a field”. The waitress even recruited one of her colleagues to accompany me (now that’s service), but it was not to be. After enjoying a late supper with the staff, two of the band members kindly but firmly offered to drop us home and I found myself escorting Andy back to the hotel. Bastard didn’t even offer me coffee.