After the night out with the lads (see earlier post), my opinion of expat life in Chiang Mai was low. All I could see was a watered-down fusion of Pat Pong and Khao San Road, ugly areas of Bangkok.
So it was up to Odilon and Yuen, two of Aaron's awesome friends, to introduce me to a completely different side of town. Just ten minutes from my guesthouse, they live in an entirely different world. And what an enviable one it seemed!
In New York, $450 gets you a monthly parking space. But here in Chiang Mai, it sets you up with a huge, gorgeous two-story house. Sitting alone on a fenced-in yard, their mansion has tall ceilings, an absurd kitchen, a washing machine. Set back from the street, the only sounds you hear are the smacks and pongs of tennis balls in the rec center next door. Fifty feet away, sidewalk vendors cook chicken and fish over an open flame. Their closest neighbor is a kratoey. I loved it!
At the local takeaway shop (the best meal I had in Chiang Mai,) the menu was crowded with frog and snakehead dishes. Odilon specified in Thai, "Don't include the solidified chicken's blood," and turned to me, "I really don't like it. In Bangkok, the waiters laughed when I said this. 'You think we're up North? We don't eat that country food!'"
In New York, $450 gets you a monthly parking space. But here in Chiang Mai, it sets you up with a huge, gorgeous two-story house. Sitting alone on a fenced-in yard, their mansion has tall ceilings, an absurd kitchen, a washing machine. Set back from the street, the only sounds you hear are the smacks and pongs of tennis balls in the rec center next door. Fifty feet away, sidewalk vendors cook chicken and fish over an open flame. Their closest neighbor is a kratoey. I loved it!
At the local takeaway shop (the best meal I had in Chiang Mai,) the menu was crowded with frog and snakehead dishes. Odilon specified in Thai, "Don't include the solidified chicken's blood," and turned to me, "I really don't like it. In Bangkok, the waiters laughed when I said this. 'You think we're up North? We don't eat that country food!'"
I could live this life. Maybe not with a 22-month-old baby. And maybe not by myself. But it seemed like an enviable one, all the same.
Muay Thai
Although, to be honest, I really didn't expect this. I wanted this. I hoped for this. But I actually expected a staged mockery of muay thai. "Wot," Tony had cried out a few nights earlier, "You think they'll give you real Muay Thai for 400 Baht? Are you joking? No, it's a stage show. That's what you'll get."
He was right. But what a stage show it was!
After paying your $12, a bar girl leads you down a long covered alleyway, crammed full of small dark bars, each of which in turn was crammed full of bar girls and ladyboys, each of whom would eagerly "Sawadeecah!" as you walked by, hoping to catch your eye. You duck under a long banner, and behind is revealed the main event: a boxing ring surrounded by chairs, tables, and -- unbelievably -- even more bars crammed full of bar girls.
About the match itself, I have little to say. It looked brutal. It looked violent. The first round was a pair of weirdly chiseled 14-year-old boys pounding at each other.
The best part, though, wasn't the boxing -- it was the dancers! As if to underscore the homoerotic elements (elements? homoerotic core!) of a crowd of drunk men cheering on other men clinging to and beating against each other, someone had decided to punctuate each boxing round with a song-and-dance number, by a troupe of obvious transvestites and transexuals: The Marina Bar Girls.
Well before the evening was over, I was bored. It became a skipping record. I left my new friends, a crowd of very drunk and sunburned Slovenian kids, who were betting each other heavily, insisting this was the real thing. "You think it's real or fake," I asked.
"Real?" one responded, completely confused.
"True. True, or no true?"
"True!!!" they all yelled, shocked that I'd even question this. "Yes, true!"
I maneuvered back through the alley of eager "sawadeecah'ing" bargirls and ladyboys. Now approaching midnight, though, these girls and boys lined the entire walk home, sharing the sidewalk with roti carts, makeshift massage chairs, and very drunk farangs.
I understand why Odilon and Yuen have settled the ten minutes from the center of town. Their oasis is far enough so they're not forced to witness this on a nightly basis. Evidently, that's how Chiang Mai can be a palatable place.
After paying your $12, a bar girl leads you down a long covered alleyway, crammed full of small dark bars, each of which in turn was crammed full of bar girls and ladyboys, each of whom would eagerly "Sawadeecah!" as you walked by, hoping to catch your eye. You duck under a long banner, and behind is revealed the main event: a boxing ring surrounded by chairs, tables, and -- unbelievably -- even more bars crammed full of bar girls.
About the match itself, I have little to say. It looked brutal. It looked violent. The first round was a pair of weirdly chiseled 14-year-old boys pounding at each other.
But there was never First Blood. I only saw blood once -- when a boxer cut his lip, and spat it out into a cup. And Sneaky Pete (below) always seemed to know which boxer to bet for. Something told me, after I lost 20B time and time again, it was rigged.
(I really wanted these pictures.)
The best part, though, wasn't the boxing -- it was the dancers! As if to underscore the homoerotic elements (elements? homoerotic core!) of a crowd of drunk men cheering on other men clinging to and beating against each other, someone had decided to punctuate each boxing round with a song-and-dance number, by a troupe of obvious transvestites and transexuals: The Marina Bar Girls.
Well before the evening was over, I was bored. It became a skipping record. I left my new friends, a crowd of very drunk and sunburned Slovenian kids, who were betting each other heavily, insisting this was the real thing. "You think it's real or fake," I asked.
"Real?" one responded, completely confused.
"True. True, or no true?"
"True!!!" they all yelled, shocked that I'd even question this. "Yes, true!"
I maneuvered back through the alley of eager "sawadeecah'ing" bargirls and ladyboys. Now approaching midnight, though, these girls and boys lined the entire walk home, sharing the sidewalk with roti carts, makeshift massage chairs, and very drunk farangs.
I understand why Odilon and Yuen have settled the ten minutes from the center of town. Their oasis is far enough so they're not forced to witness this on a nightly basis. Evidently, that's how Chiang Mai can be a palatable place.
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