A dot called Pattaya

Have you ever been driving along on some long road trip desperate for a bathroom break, rest stop, or maybe it is nearing dark and your eyelids are heavy and it is time for a hotel. Whichever the occasion, you pull out the map and your search for the closest little dot in route indicating a town.

The dot labeled Pattaya

The sky is a flawless coat of baby blue—no splotches of white clouds. The sky is like a clear window… the sun has a strong heavy eye and it glares at us the entire day. I can feel the sun’s stare as it slyly turns my skin pink. At times I can see the ocean through the rows of palm trees to my left! My legs begin to complain about each rotation of the pedals. We stop at one of the many 7-11 general stores abundant in each town. A yogurt, a pack of peanuts and a large bottle of water provide petroleum for the body. A few more miles.. We look at the map. There is a big dot just a few more miles up on our route. It even looks like it is on the ocean front. PATTAYA labels the bold dot and becomes our destination for the day. Riding a bicycle through the country, I see and feel the changes in the land. I feel as if I have ownership over each mile. I pedal it, with my own power, and I conquer it. Yesterday’s ride, north, was hilly green and more remote. Suddenly in the last few miles, the hills are no longer riding with me. The two lane road multiplies into four lanes. Small humble bamboo huts on stilts have been replaced by massive luxury resorts and skyscraper condo buildings. We pull over on the gravel shoulder, sip some water. “Maybe this place, Pattaya, is actually in our guidebook,” I suggest. Steve pulls out the lonely planet guidebook.

“Pattaya is not in the index.”

“Let’s just go towards the waterfront. There are sure to be a strip of hotels and restaurants there!”

The countdown of the road markers is over. We are there. I feel a sense of accomplishment. I glance at the watch: 5:15 p.m. “By 5:45, I will be clean and showered,” I tell myself, eager to find a hotel. I search the signs and buildings for English words like, “hotel, hostel, or guesthouse. I see English letters and they spell, “Go-go Girls” and “Go-go Bar.” I see a foreigner. My first thought is to stop and ask if he knows of a good cheap hostel. He is an older male white foreigner—not the typical backpacker. Then another foreigner, and another. I look around to my right, my left, and behind me. The street is full of foreigners—all older white men and many of them are accompanied by young short beautiful Thai women. I glance down a side street. “Hotel” pulls at my attention. Two very sexy Thai young girls sit outside of the hotel in mini skirts.

“Maybe not.” I mumble

“Go-Go Bar”

“ “Girl Dancers Tonight!”

“Lady-Boy Bar”

“Night Dream Hotel” (all in English)

I feel as if I have somehow left Thailand and entered a different country. The road stops at a T in front of the ocean where it joins with a plam tree lined walkway. Beautiful palm trees, peaceful waves and sea, sexy young girls, and old wrinkly white men. I stand there leaning on my handlebars, surprised, shocked, a rude welcoming to the dot on the map: Pattaya. Little did we know that it was the sex tourism prostitute capital of Thailand! A wrinkled white hand reaches down and squeezes the butt cheek of the little Thai girl next to him as they walk around me. I am disgusted. In the moment, I hate Thailand. Lustful old white men, greedy girls, no integrity, anything for money…We stay in a cheap hotel and like every other hotel, there are sexy girls sitting in front advertising “massages.” We tell ourselves that it is just for one night. And the biggest irony: Steve would get sick in the night and we would be stuck in Sin City: Pattaya.

I walk to the English book store across the street from the hotel and a title, “My name Lon, you like me?” grabs at my attention. I read it while looking out of the hotel window, watching the strange white men interact with the beautiful Thai women. The book helps me UNDERSTAND (not to be confused with accept) the prostitute life. The white men are generally social outcasts, unattractive, lonely, or divorced men, yearning for love. The Thai women are better paid than any other job in Thailand. They make enough money to provide for their entire families. Parents even encourage their young beautiful daughters to become prostitutes so the family can have T.V., siblings can go to school, and the rest of the family can live well. Sometimes the white man wants to “rescue” the prostitute, marry her, and take her to his own country, but the nightly money is not the same. Some Thai women chose to stay in the prostitute life for the money. It is sad. It is complicated. I wish the world was just a long beautiful bike ride through lush green palm tree scenery for everyone.