KTV Karaoke cum brothel entertainment gulag in Siem Reap, Cambodia
CAMBODIA // MAY 2017
Twinkle and Shine
Take a ride on a merry Roundabout
Sail a dreamboat across the lagoon
Go around until you reel on the Ferris wheel
Or fly, fly, fly in a toy balloon
Why don’t you come to the Funfair, Fall into line
Come put a smile on, Twinkle and Shine
Come to the Funfair, follow the throng
Everyone’s there, at the Funfair
At the Funfair.
Come along, come along, come along to the Funfair!
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Come to the Funfair
INDIA // AUGUST 2016
This morning, while I was having breakfast, I watched a wasted, middle aged sex worker cough up her last customer’s effluent into the unforgiving street. I’m in Pattaya, possibly the ugliest, nastiest, most unfriendly, most cut throat and depressingly exploitative place I have ever been to…and I have been to a few horrible places in this life.
The resident and visiting Farang and Thais are uniformly nasty and the whole city stinks of rip-offs, abuse and tragedy.
Forget all the bla-bla about the place being a family destination. It’s a gigantic, tired whorehouse, a sex factory for old men without love, for emotional cripples and viagra-popping criminals from around the world, who should all be dead but are somehow clinging on to what can’t really be called life.
That’s a celebration of sorts of course, and places like Pattaya must exist somewhere other than just in our psyche, if for no other reason than to tell us clearly that there’s no hope for us. Pattaya is an American creation, a side-effect of our once desperate fight against the evils of communism, but it’s wholeheartedly Thai, because the Thais in charge of the place simply don’t care about anything other than making money, no matter now debased the method.
And while there’s nothing to look at, there’s plenty to see.
From morning to morning, a haze of mediocracy hangs above the city, an insipid film of average – best reflected in the prevalence of Hitler T-Shirts and other Nazi memorabilia in the city’s markets, the minute, dirty beach populated by hustlers, the overpriced restaurants selling Thai food that tastes like garbage, the piss awful cover bands on Walking Street that churn out uninspired, hollow rock standards to hundreds of drunken degenerates, the mean, beady eyes of white men that poke out of decrepit sports bars and follow passers-by like persistent venereal diseases, the incredible cacophony of terrible tattoos displayed on wilting flesh, and the thousands of burnt out and beaten women along the riverfront who are waiting to open their legs, mouths and asses for less than 50 bucks.
Welcome to Thailand, amigos. It’s a lot to swallow.
THAILAND // FEBRUARY 2015