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Displayed prices are for multiple nights. Check the site for price per night. I see hostels starting at 200b/day and hotels from 500b/day on agoda.

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Another One Bites the Dust: According to an email I received from a local bar-hound, rumour suggests the Misty’s gogo (Pattayaland Soi 2) will be closing down around the end of March. Given the gradual shift of the soi into the similar gender-confused status of its next door neighbour Pattayaland Soi 1, it may be no real surprise Misty’s is closing after 12 years of operations. There is one cocks-in-frocks den just across the soi and I think two or three pink palaces as well while the number of distaff dens has dwindled to just five, including Misty’s, in recent years.


Misty’s is set to open up in Walking Street, where the money really is nowadays.


Worthy of a Silent Film: The latest coyote-style dancing den to open its doors is Club Blu (Soi Buakhow). Situated right on the corner of Soi LK Metro and opposite the popular Stereo beer boozer and snooker hall, Club Blu is a spacious rectangle with plenty of young and attractive talent on display and it’s certainly taken off as far as punters are concerned with a good crowd in the night I checked it out. Heading towards the place I couldn’t help thinking I was watching something out of a silent film. No sound, naturally, was coming out onto the street, but the whole place is enclosed by clear-glass and the dancing girls were writhing about like people slowly asphyxiating. Of course the reason for the unnatural gyrations is pretty obvious once you step inside and are assailed by the music.


Still Going Strong: I was recently sent a lengthy email by a usually reliable source concerned about the financial goings-on in the popular Club Oasis gogo (Soi Buakhow). The upshot was a suggestion the den was experiencing financial problems. I haven’t been able to ascertain the truth, or otherwise, of this assertion, but on a recent Wednesday evening I wandered in to check the joint out. There were at least 24 dancers who had fronted up for work and by midnight a dozen of these had been barfined. Quite a number of those left were attractive or at least alluring enough to have found work in most dens and the place, while not packed, was doing good business. The serving wenches, very often a good barometer of the health of a den, were dashing about the place with smiles on their faces and joking with each other and customers. If there ever was a problem it appears, at least on the surface, to have been well and truly sorted out.


Tales from the Crib: The life of a gigolo can prove to be quite a bummer if the following story is anything to go by. Denis the Menace, mine host of the OK Corral beer boozer and sports emporium (Soi Rungland), related the following anecdote concerning an amusing incident that occurred to the son of a quite famous British comedian of the 1920s-1950s. While his father had a statue erected to mark his achievements in the field of entertainment, the son apparently makes his living as a professional ladies man.


A regular visitor to Thailand, the ageing but still charismatic gigolo, who we’ll nickname ‘Banjo’, was in Pattaya accompanied by a Thai lady. She requested her beau’s help in instructing her niece, fresh out of the trees and off the back of a buffalo in the village, in the ways of coital activities as they apply to the average foreign male. Being an obliging kind of chap, as gigolo’s are wont to be, he readily agreed to give the required instruction and took the girl under his wing. In the first instance he renovated her less-than-acceptable wardrobe and soon had her dressed in more than jeans and a tacky buffalo-snotted T-shirt.


She was then sent off to the hairdresser to be coiffed in modern fashion. Finally, she went to a beauty shop for the application of war paint and new shiny nails. Of course, all expenses were borne by her aunt, as the whole point of being a gigolo is not to spend any of your own wedge.


Happy with the end result on the visual front, Banjo then retired to the boudoir with the aunt, the trainee niece, and a video camera. This last was purely for the purposes of use later as an instructional tool.


Naturally the aunt commenced the training proceedings in order to give her inexperienced and still somewhat shy niece a chance to get an idea of how things are done when it comes to the art of mattress dancing. At one point the aunt, with her mouth full (and not of food, so this would not be classified as impolite in the etiquette books), asked her paramour how her niece could be helping with the act of sexual congress currently in progress.


Banjo suggested the niece might like to use one hand to stroke his knackers while placing the finger of the other hand in a place where the sun never shines. It appears the niece took to the latter activity with a little too much relish and suddenly Banjo had an extremely unpleasant feeling emanating from the back door.


Ceasing all erotic activity, Banjo wriggled into Kama Sutra position number 181, basically on all fours. The aunt, with assistance from the niece, stared into what must really have seemed like a black hole in the hope of recovering one of the latter’s new shiny nails which had come adrift during the training session. After much peering, pointing and, slightly painful poking and prodding, the aunt suddenly exclaimed, “We’ve found something!” Then, with a deflated mutter she noted, “Oh, it’s only a corn kernel.”


The search for the missing nail continued unsuccessfully, and finally Banjo decided to relax and let nature take its course. Eventually the nail passed back the way it came and Banjo was able to once more sit without discomfort. It just goes to show that the life of a professional gigolo is not all it’s cracked up to be.


Smoking update As of Sunday night 17 February, there were a number of dens banning smoking as well as outdoor beer boozers. Others weren’t concerned, while still others were banning it until midnight. After the witching hour it became OK because they think the police don’t work after that hour!


Piece of Pith: The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.

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