Bangkok Frights

Every time I think of my time teaching English in Bangkok I squirm with embarrassment. Two events combined to make me wish I’d never set eyes on the place. Some of my students were monks and they invited me to their temple to have a look around and meet the children to whom they taught English on Sundays. When I turned up the classroom was stuffed to the brim with small brown faces aged between four and fifteen. Arrayed around the sides of the room were monks of every age and size, some clearly having travelled miles to come and see a genuine English English teacher. They all stood up and sang a welcome song (in Thai) and then another song in English. Thais love to sing, and they are quite good at it. The children all clapped in time and applauded themselves when they finally stopped singing. The head monk stood up and gestured that it was my turn to sing something in English for the children. Arrggh! Anyone who knows me will tell you that I can’t sing. I turned purple and shook my head, giggling hysterically. I insisted that I didn’t know any songs. I faked a heart attack.

Eventually I had to do it. The children patiently taught me the words to We Are the World and sat back down with expectant grins. The trauma still affects me to this day, and I wonder if any of the souls in that room will ever recover. It was pitiful. It actually brought tears to my eyes. A thin, warbling, tuneless voice lifting over the heads of the apalled audience. I faltered to a stop and had to run from the room in humiliation as four year old children looked on in pity. Needless to say I didn’t get the guided tour of the temple that was scheduled after the class. I was halfway to Kathmandu by then, having had facial surgery.

The second event that left scars on my soul was an innocent foray into the world of red-light district masseurs. After class, my colleagues and I would often go to Patpong, the red light district of Bangkok, to unwind. Sounds saucy, but it was the only place you could sit and drink coffee, chat with the ladyboys, watch a free video and read the foreign papers. One day, bored, I asked for suggestions as to how to fill an hour, and my colleague suggested I try a Thai massage. There was a parlour a couple of doors down. I walked in to find a bar down one wall of a large dimly lit room. The other side of the room was a brightly-lit, glassed off display cabinet for whores. Draped provocatively on the bare-tile steps behind the glass, they wore a uniform of thong, heels and feather boa. A small elderly lady came out of a side door, looked me up and down and said, OK, you pick one. I ummed and erred and tried to explain that I wanted a massage ONLY and she impatiently repeated, Pick one. I asked her to pick one, so she chose a slightly older girl with a pock-marked face. The girl came out from behind the glass and gestured for me to follow her upstairs. I walked behind her swaying cheeks trying to keep my eyes on the rickety wooden steps. After several floors we finally reached a small landing with some closed wooden doors. We entered one and I found myself in a wooden cubicle whose walls didn’t reach the sagging ceiling. I could hear masculine groans coming from the neighbouring cubicles. There was just enough room for a large single bed, a bath and a shoe rack. The girl gestured for me to remove my clothes, which I shyly did, down to my underwear. Meanwhile she was running hot water into the bath. Impatiently, she asked me to strip off my underwear and get into the bath, which I did with growing embarrassment. She soaped me more thoroughly than I have ever been soaped, despite my protestations that I could do it perfectly well myself. I felt positively violated when I emerged, pink and flustered, for her to towel me dry. She made me lie on my front on the bed and tipped clouds of talcum powder over me. What followed was the most painful torture imaginable. She manipulated my limbs and digits to positions they were NOT meant to attain. Every joint was stretched to it’s limit and then just a little beyond. My body was popping like an eighties MTV video. Finally, she got me to lie on my back, put my legs over my head so they touched the wall behind me, and she sat on my thighs. My face was purple with exertion and embarrassment. Only a thong remained between me and the unthinkable. At this point the door opened. Perfect. It was one of her colleagues asking for some soap, but the minute she spotted this large, puce creature underneath her colleague she barked with laughter which was rapidly echoed by the one sitting on me. To the point where she actually fell off me and (thankfully) released me from this astonishing and humiliating position. I’ve never dressed so fast in my life. My perilous descent down those rickety stairs has never been equalled for speed and colour. However, once I had calmed down, I noticed that I felt much looser in my joints, so I would thoroughly recommend a Thai massage. If you have a strong constitution.