How, on my first visit to Thailand, I nearly drowned, had a fucking blast, got fucked twice, couldn't get laid and still went home satisfied.

This is the Wombat's first trip to Thailand. He possessed only limited second-hand knowledge of local customs and attitudes. Written from the perspective of a naïve visitor, some of the comments and details may seem rather mundane or just plain pointless. He also avoids the use of code words, incomprehensible terminology and TLA's so that newcomers might actually be able figure out what the hell he's talking about.

Thais don’t bother with passé firecrackers for their New Year celebration; they're into water. Most of the cities take to celebrating by turning their town into a giant water fight -- complete with water cannon equipped personnel vehicles, bucket brigades and all assortments of aqueous projectile launchers. These people, evidently, know how to party! When the opportunity presented itself to visit Thailand for a single night, I leapt at the opportunity, having never been there before.

I arrived in Hatyai quite early. As the bus drove into the city, I had my first look at Thailand and its people (but I was mostly checking out the cute babes on scooters). Once we arrived in the town proper, I saw my first evidence of the mayhem to come. A mixed group of locals had set up a couple of water barrels on a street corner. In addition to splashing the pedestrians walking past, they took a few shots at the van -- scoring direct hits on the closed windows. At the hotel, the celebration was just getting started. The square in front was set up with a sound system, blasting out Thai pop music mixed with the hotel’s cheesy jingles. Revelers were in the square blasting each other with hand-pump water guns. I dashed into the lobby to check in. My room was not ready so I left my luggage, wrapped my wallet and hand phone in plastic bags and headed out.

I planned to keep to the sidelines and ease my way into the celebration but the partygoers would have none of that. I was blasted within moments of exiting the hotel. I was ill equipped to defend myself having not the foresight to acquire my own aquatic weaponry. However, I was fairing better than those well armed, as anyone with a water weapon was an instant target for the others. I watched the 200 or so people in the square pelting each other with water. Before the hotel jingles drove me nuts, I ran through the gauntlet and out into the street.

The action was really beginning to pick up. Small trucks were loaded with water barrels and squirt gun equipped celebrators crawled down the street unleashing blasts of water at anyone in range. No one was safe from these vehicles. They, in turn, were more than fair game to the infantry lined up on both sides of the street. As each truck came within firing range, the truck would let loose its barrage just as the foot soldiers attacked with their own weaponry. In the morning light, the resulting splash was a thing to behold.

After observing the carnage wrecked by the various launchers, I decided to go low-tech with a pump action … pump … thingy. It was a long tube, looking something like a bicycle pump without the hose or handle. Basically, you dip the business end into a bucket, pull back on the shaft and load it up with water in a couple of seconds. You then point it in the right direction and start squirting. It didn’t occur to me until later that I chose a most appropriately phallic symbol for my first purchase in Thailand.

I joined the foot soldiers and discovered there were no allies in this battle; everyone was fair game as those on the street nailed me with barrage after barrage of water shouting “Happy! Happy!” and “Happy New Year!” A farang (European) like myself, I discovered, was an absolute magnet to the water-bearing crowd. Thus the battle raged in earnest. Laughing and shouting locals and visitors pelted one another and decorated each other’s faces with rice paste, flour or talc. Unfortunately, I discovered that some of them had taken to using some kind of spicy powder concoction that burned my pale white skin. Fortunately, a handy spray of water from a reveler made quick work of whatever was plastered to me.

After spending quite some time in the downtown tourist area, I decided to expand my horizons and explore. Down one of the main thoroughfares, a parade was in progress. A few highly decorated religious-looking constructs rolled by. They were followed by an assortment of trucks hauling <gulp> beauty pageant contestants.

And now a word about my prejudices and personal preferences; I am not particularly attracted to Asian women. Sure there are some absolute beauties out there, but given the average looking Asian, African, Indian, Native American, or European, I’ll go with the average European every single time. Having just spent a few weeks in another Asian country, I was beginning to appreciate the beauty of the local ladies as much as the local cuisine; both, evidently, are an acquired taste.

So, there I am watching the beauty queen hopefuls roll past. Each of them is beautifully decked out in traditional Thai attire. Of course they are all absolutely soaked to the bone. Some look as if they’d had enough and would really like to be somewhere else, while others remained in the spirit of things and gave me a big smile as I whooped and waved. What struck me was that there were women standing around me who could easily have replace any one of the delectable creatures on the floats.

I continued my exploration of the city, making mental note of the numerous karaoke bars and massage parlors. Just for a short diversion, I walked up to the entrance of a rather large massage establishment just off a main road, to get myself a good morning workout. A small group of people eating their breakfast at the entrance tried, in broken English, to tell me that I should go to another area. I took it that this one was not yet open so I continued my wanderings.

I happened upon one short street lined with karaoke bars, hair salons, beauty salons and a two-star hotel. A pitched battle was raging between the two sides of the street. Raiding parties from either side would venture across with their buckets and cannons to be met by a volley of water from the defenders hiding behind cars and concrete benches. Whenever a vehicle rolled through, all would stop to concentrate their attacks on the interloper. I watched them for some time, sitting on the sideline as my sodden feet were now beginning to complain.

I was about to turn to go when I noticed an attractive girl with a small child in her arms making her way toward me with a small bucket. She poured a bit on my shoulder and handed the nearly empty bucket to the kid to do the same. She was quite bewildered by all that was going on. We exchanged hellos and I discovered that she could barely speak a word of English. We exchanged names and had quite a time trying to pronounce each other’s name. Hers, I understood to be something that sounded a lot like Myow. I asked her daughter’s name and she laughed indicating that she was not hers. She tried to get me to join in the festivities. While I was tempted, my waterlogged wallet and undoubtedly short-circuited phone were in dire need of a good airing-out. She begged me to wait and went to one of the hair salons. She returned the child to its mother and came back as I examined my damp phone. I explained that I had to check in and dry out. She couldn’t understand why I had to leave. (In hindsight, I can’t understand either -- my western thinking is too rigid, too governed by the clock and calendar.)

I pulled out a pen and tried to draw a picture indicating I needed to check in to my hotel. Eventually, she understood. She asked where I was from and how long I would be in town. We laughed as we attempted to communicate with sign language, stick figures and pantomime. I was actually having a terrific time. She gave me a few playful nips on the arm as we laughed at each other’s attempt to converse. She tried to tell me that she was either going home to her mother later and/or was working in a karaoke bar somewhere a taxi ride away. She was very keen to know if I liked her. Well, I certainly did and told her so. She didn’t quite blush, but was tickled by my compliment. She didn’t have a phone but gave me her friend’s number telling me to call later. I didn’t know my own number and my phone was dead so there was no way I could give her mine. As I waved goodbye, I told her I’d come back after I got settled in.

Given Thailand’s reputation for openness, I figured to see the public equivalent of a wet t-shirt contest on every street. Whether it was the influence of the (usually) more staid Malaysians or my preconceptions, there was no open display of sexuality anywhere to be found.

I got to thinking about Myow and how much fun I had with her. I decided that I’d make my way back to the street where I met her. Despite my best navigation efforts, it took quite some time to find the street I visited earlier. The party was still happening. The bar had rolled an enormous jukebox out to the sidewalk; it was happily blaring out Asian dance tunes. The denizens of the street where still splashing around but a lot more of them were dancing and drinking. I stood on the corner to see if I could spot Myow. After a few minutes I went along the front of the shops and got pelted with more ice water. This time I was a bit better prepared as I filled my shooter with ice water as well.

As I laughed with them, a ladyboy from the hair salon snuck up behind me and shoved some ice down my shorts. At that moment, the second-to-last thing I wanted in my pants was ice. I howled in protest as I hopped up and down trying to dislodge the chunks still wedged in. No sooner had I recovered but another ladyboy made a full frontal attack with more ice chunks. I dodged and weaved and hollered while the crowd roared with laughter.

I really enjoyed watching the girls dance, thoroughly impressed with their technique. Two in particular really caught my eye. One, I was convinced, had received classical training. She moved her body with a practiced grace, but what gave her away was the movement of her hands. Not random movements but distinct patterns and shapes. The other girl was pure dance energy. She shook her shoulders and gyrated her hips with legs spread apart, long black hair was flying everywhere from beneath her floppy macramé hat. Every time a car came along, she’d sashay out into the street and passionately dance in the middle of the road. If her physical presence did not arrest the driver, her sexual magnetism certainly would. At one point, she pranced over to me and did a hip grinding dance move against me as everyone cheered her on. I found neither girl particularly attractive. The dancing demon, whom I nicknamed Baby, still had her baby fat and was quite ordinary looking. Her classical companion, whom I nicknamed Handmaiden, was too square featured.

I was loosing hope that I would see Myow again. I asked a few people near where I saw her before, but received no positive response. As I stood there, ready to leave, the woman beside me said “Eat!” and shoved a slice of watermelon in my mouth. I was flabbergasted at the gesture and nearly choked. She laughed and handed me a larger slice. Another girl handed me a glass of beer.

Before I could finish my drink, Baby bounded up and started pestering me for money. I figured out that I was expected to contribute to the beer fund. I forked over 100THB but she indicated I should give her another 100. I was beyond caring at that moment so I gave her the additional cash. I was soon rewarded with another large bottle of beer and a second for the others in the group. This happened a couple of time as I sat there. A fellow from Singapore was also being hit up for cash. A little while later, a small plate of something I could not identify arrived from the local restaurant. I had no intention of eating anything but chopstick laden treats made their way to my mouth, courtesy of the girls with whom I was sitting. I begged off indicating that it was too spicy for me.

Another girl hit me up for more money, ostensibly to pay for food. I only had a 1000THB note and was nervous about surrendering it to an unidentified party but in the end I handed it over knowing I’d probably never see it again. Within a few minutes, a charcoal brazier was placed on the concrete table. Several plates soon followed and I watched as the Thais prepared their dinner – courtesy of me. I figured it was forty bucks well spent, but a few minutes later I received nearly 700 in change. Money well spent and a bargain too as my contribution helped feed nearly a dozen people. I learned later that the locals figure Western visitors are rich and expect them to pay for their hospitality. I understand that this isn’t done in a malicious way; it’s just how things are there and everyone (other than foreigners who don’t understand) just accepts it.

I graciously took part in their feeding ritual accepting what was offered and hand fed a few sitting beside me. I took great pleasure in watching them feed one another. For them, this is as natural a gesture as touching glasses in a toast.

Baby would occasionally bounce in, receive a couple of mouthfuls, exchange laughs with some of the girls and bound out to dance in the street again. Watching her flirt with the guys and girls was really getting me turned on. She had a way of moving that was pure eroticism. I never really appreciated the power of dance in the mating ritual. She must have noted my interest because she made it a point to sit next to me, grab my hands, squeeze my shoulder and rub up against me. I did my best to communicate with her, but she was at an even lower English comprehension level than Myow. She appreciated the attention though, because I was rewarded with several yummy kisses as she dashed in and out of our small party. It wasn't long before we were engaged in the feeding ritual.

One thing that confused me was that, despite the serious courting happening between us, she seemed to be trying to get me involved with a few others girls in our group. “She nice! You talk!” she’d say as she joined my hand with one of her friends. Unfortunately, by this point I was fixated on Baby. Only Myow would be able to drag me from her presence.

Our party was slowly breaking up. I was chatting and drinking with the others while watching Baby being Baby when someone dropped a glass on the ground. I busied myself picking up the pieces but was discouraged by one of the girls. I thought this odd and figured they’d soon hose down the sidewalk. I picked up all the pieces I could see except for one chunk tucked in by the base of the bench. This, of course, was the piece that barefooted Baby managed to step on. I didn’t realize it until she was lying back in the arms of one of her friends while blood poured from her foot.

Years of first-aid training kicked in as I took care of her with the help of her friends. My new buddy from Singapore dashed off and returned with gauze, iodine and hydrogen peroxide. We had her fixed up in no time, but there would be no more dancing for her that night. I toyed with the idea of asking if she wanted to go to my hotel. Before I could offer, she indicated that she had to go to her hotel. Hotel? Huh? Well, maybe she was only here for the party. (I later wondered if she might have already been booked for the evening.) In any event, a scooter taxi soon showed up and she got on with her belongings. I gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. She bid me to return the next day and I agreed.

During all the commotion, I didn’t notice that most of the partygoers had drifted off. Only a few people were left on the street. Only the Singapore guy and his girl were still left from my party. They had moved to the other side of the street where I joined them. Handmaiden, who had driven off in one of the trucks earlier, had returned and joined us as well. Singapore’s girl indicated that I should book Handmaiden, that she was very good and had nice breasts. This was the most overt offer I had all day and I was, quite frankly, nearly offended. Actually, I was just plain uncomfortable. Handmaiden was nice, but I just wasn’t attracted to her -- and she certainly didn’t seem to be taking any interest in me. I apologized, that I was tired and should best be moving on. I drifted up the street and made my way back to the center of town. I tried calling Myow, but the number I dialed kept giving me a recording.

I was somewhat bummed out, but I was sure there were plenty of possibilities available that evening. I stopped by the first obvious knock-up shop and had a look inside. Here I observed my first fishbowl. Three ladies sat on a tiered structure behind a glassed off section of the room. I am somewhat mystified as to the origin and purpose of this peculiar arrangement. The fellow who ushered me in explained the pricing arrangement, but I was only half listening as I tried to take in my surroundings. None of the ladies interested me so I made my way back to the street.

The next shop advertised massage but was a long narrow bar inside. I asked the barmaid about the massage trying to figure out what was going on. She indicated that the massage was upstairs. A lady at the bar gestured and bid me to have a drink with her instead of going upstairs. I was tempted but I realized her serious lack of English skills, in combination with the loud music, would make for a lousy time for at least one of us. I went upstairs and observed a bunch of women sitting around paying cards. None looked like they were into the sort of massage I was interested in and headed back downstairs and out into the street again.

My next stop was a large and well-known club I had read about, the Pink complex. I checked out their fishbowl and was quite impressed with what was swimming around inside. Numerous Asian stunners sat poised behind the glass. I learned that 90 minutes with one of the ladies would set me back about 1600THB. I was sorely tempted, but they all looked too primed or too fragile and delicate. I was in the mood for a frisky frolic and these women looked much too refined for that. I headed downstairs to see the other entertainment offered by the establishment. A floorshow, consisting of several dancers lip-synching and/or singing to the latest Asian pop songs and classic ballads, looked amusing, so in I went.

I decided to sit and have a drink while I contemplated my next move. Moments later, an attractive woman in a tasteful outfit, politely asked if she could join me. Huh? I’m used to attractive women snapping their fingers and seeing how high I can jump, not formally asking permission to join me. With introductions out of the way, she explained she was one of the dancers and would be going on stage later. I bought her a drink and we chatted. It wasn’t long before her hand was resting on my bare thigh. Her attention was, um, certainly getting a rise out of me. She indicated that she had to go for a costume change and would I wait for her. Wait for her? I was thinking she was going to have a hard time keeping me from following her into the dressing room.

Several minutes later she returned attired in something based on traditional Thai costumes. At that point some guy came up and asked if I’d like to buy the lady some flowers. He explained that I could spend a good bit of money, more money or a whole lot of money for a sort of wreath she could wear on stage. He pointed to the stage and, sure enough, a couple of the dancers were wearing these flower chains. I pulled Mimi close and asked her if she wouldn’t rather have the cash instead. She responded with “No flower, no power!” indicating that this was a status thing. I was aware of the whole status and face thing so I capitulated and agreed to buy a string of flowers. When they arrived I was disappointed that they had no scent. I was about to lay the flowers around her neck when she told me that I should do so while she’s on stage. Again, a status thing, I suspected. She left soon after and I waited for her act to begin.

It turned out that she was a backup dancer/singer(lip-syncher) for a “star” in the show. I lumbered up to the stage trying to figure out how to get the flowers to her. Throw them? When another person went to place flowers on the lead lip-syncher, Mimi quickly stepped over and bowed to let me drape the flowers on her.

After her performance, she returned to my table, sans flowers. When I asked what became of them, she explained that she returned them for some kind of credit. So, she gets the status thing and still gets cash. My focus was beginning to improve. I was really tired at this point and figured that a night with Mimi would be quite nice. I was, unfortunately, unsure how to propose to her. I asked her how long she’d plan to stay there that evening (until 2am). Would she be able to leave earlier? No. Even if I paid the bar for her to leave? No. I told her I enjoyed her company but must return to my hotel room and rest. She smiled, bid me farewell and hoped that I would come back the next evening.

I was too tired to be let down, but when I steped out of the Pink complex, I realized that the Thai deities were in a festive mood. Rain was now pouring down from the heavens, drenching what was left of my spirit. I made it back to the hotel, peeled off my wet closes and damn near passed out on the bed … alone.

End of Part 1