We are the Chi Chi girls...

Almost the last night in the capital before heading south to catch some much needed rest and relaxation on the islands. I've become quite friendly with the kids working at the guesthouse reception desk, so it was with pleasure that I accepted their proposal to 'make party' later in the evening when they all finished work. Nui, Wo, Bi and assorted others went in search of fun, Thai style, at about mid-night, ending up in a place in the capital far removed from the backpackers and all that comes with us ...

Welcome to the Bangkok Bar, a nightclub containing all requisite elements for (clean) nocturnal fun in South East Asia.

Firstly, use a large space, cram in as much furniture as possible and then do all but turn out the lights. A single candle of 10 lux is sufficent to work your way around all three levels and the free advanced-level obstacle course of chairs, tables and other assorted shapes hiding in near obscurity.

Next, add air conditioning. It must be either completely non-functional (the type prefered by the Thais' Cambodian neighbours) or so functional that the air has the same effect on your genitals as does the water at Coogee Bay in August. Just chill, man.

Introduce at least one tenth of the city's pouplation into the said space. Dress them in clothing that makes you feel like the filthy, sweating backpacker that you are ... your two-year old Rip Curl t-shirt, crusty shorts and cheap sandals are no match for their designer gear, all in black.
Most important of all, the music. All songs will be sung by in semi-literate English by Thai girls and boys, very much in the early style of Bananarama. Remove any bass line. Absent verses will be made up for amply by a repetitive chorus that can induce deep vein thrombosis. Volume will be at a level that removes the need and possibility to talk at all, your ears will leach varying quantities of sanguine fluids and brain material. But for all of this the very friendly Thai kids will attempt converstation. These guys are really nice.

Everyone will dance, everywhere. No stairwell, table, chair, toilet cubicle or telephone box will remain safe from avid, pumping and highly enthusiastic salsa and rhumba machinations (and may I ask, what the Hell was a phone cubicle doing in the that club, and who was the person attempting to make the call).

Everyone smiles here, especially our little troupe after we polish off the second bottle of Samsong (and like the Angkor temples, a full and just description of its effect on your psyche is beyond the writer's powers). Being locals, my companions for the evening know only too well that we Westerners are willing and stupid enough to argue over the smallest amounts of money with a rickshaw driver but then not raise an eyebrow once drunk and paying an exorbitant amount of local currency for a JD & coke. My new mates were so good as to take me to the local Bottle-O and get the stuff at a fraction of the price.

See, it's all about the love.

One of the girls sneaked the grog through the club door and we continued our disco moves. Not sure how she got it in though. Thai girls are so petite and wear very small amounts of black designer clothing. Also, handbags are generally large enough to contain a lipstick, but just as with women in the Western world, they somehow manage to hold the equivalent of a week's grocery for the average Australian share-house. So maybe it wasn't that hard to get the JD back in at all.
No matter, the important thing was that we drank it and I did very bad dance moves until the early hours of the morning. Of course, morning in Bangkok is not the same at home. In this part of the world the big star rises without warning, the rays hit with a compaparable force to a well guided laser from the Millenium Falcon; your bones and muscles melt. And you suddenly feel a little comatose. But as I had already consumed some pork, fish and other kinds of meat balls and drank my own body weight in water before retiring to the prison cell, I felt ready bright and early for a day at the National Gallery and a jog in the park.

Now that I have befreinded a few Thai locals they are quickly re-teaching me the language. My skills had admittedly never progressed further than the obligatory 'How much'? and counting from one to a hundred, but this time around is another story. Each time I sit down in the guesthouse restaurant to continue my travel diary (the one where I write bad words), one of the eager and earnest staff is hot on my tail for a lesson in Thai nasal vowels and tonal consonants. And sometime they teach me obscene words to so that we can all get a cheap giggle.

Five hours later I know how to say my name and express that I need something to drink.
OK ... off south to the islands.