Here kitty-kitty.... [edit]

[Edited for two reasons: (1) Mustafa's name was misspelled and having my newest honeybear's name misspelled just won't do; and (2) I mistakenly referred to the girls we were hanging out with as "prostitutes." I've since learned that these were actually "working girls." The distinction, in Bangkok at least, is that the latter are primarily employed to keep you drinking by any means necessary. That these means might - in the case of yucky ferengi men - sometimes be sex is not really the point. "Prostitutes," on the other hand, tend to sadly be those women - mostly from Burma and Cambodia here in Bangkok - who are trafficked to whorehouses and kept as virtual slaves. As I understand it, the distinction is a very important one and I wanted to be clear.]

I arrived in Bangkok from Udon Thani (more on my bitterness fiesta for having to check my liquids/gels later) and texted Ale's friend Mustafa (who I, frankly, refuse to call "Moose.") When I received the text back, I read it out loud: "We're on Soi Cowboy...." John and Chris both groaned.

Apparently Soi Cowboy (a street, not a bar) is in the heart of Thai's red light district. Not being a huge fan of the exploitation of women, I was not super-excited to head over there, but I'm glad I did. It was completely fascinating. The girls there were very aggressive. When I made the mistake of pausing on the street for too long, I had a gaggle of women run up to me and attempt to literally drag me into a bar.

I found the boys, eventually, in a bar called Country Road. In their defense, it was the least offensive bar on the whole strip. We hung out with some "working girls," I befriended a woman the boys insist must be the madam (she even bought us drinks), and we met some Danes. Rose, one of the "working girls," took us (and the Danes, 2 gals and 1 boy) to an afterhours spot where we drank some more. Brilliantly, John has business cards with a small map and directions home written in Thai to give to guests (he got them when his family came to visit last year). I just handed the card to a driver, explained that I only had 60 baht left and took off. Minutes later (much quicker than when I was on the meter earlier in the night, I might add) I was home.

John lives in a beautiful house and was nice enough to offer me the guest bedroom. I have to admit that it's just so nice to live in a home (as I did with Sarada) rather than bop from hotel to hotel. I'll be here with John until Thursday when a very large crew of boys (Ale, Josh, Mustafa, Charles, Adam, Victor, and Graham) busts a move up to Chiang Mai. There are so many things I want to blog about (prostitution, my conversation with the Danes about Europe's refugee problem, the liquid carry-on ban, etc.) but I just got a text from the boys and I should probably get my ass in gear. Instead, a quick thought on John's crazy cats. There are two. One has a bit of a palsy (she shakes a lot) and keeps to herself. The other, LB (or Little Bastard), is the friendliest kitty ever. Too friendly, in fact. LB and I may have words if he climbs up on my back again to lick my head. Weird, kitty. That's a weird, weird kitty.