The following blog posts are some of my impressions and experiences in the Love146 partnership trip to Southeast Asia, April 21-29. These are dedicated, with admiration, to the teammates I had the privilege to spend that week and a half with: Kathy, Paula Sharon, Kristian, and Matthew. ~Bangkok; April 22.
The heat is crushing after a long Boston winter; heavy with warmth and alternating waves of sweet jasmine and rotten durians. Our shirts are wet with perspiration after two blocks. The sidewalk is only present in varying degrees, and in some places is nothing but rubble and dirt connected by wobbly stone tiles. A giant cockroach scuttles by, making us jump out of its path. "I actually don't mind them so much now after that friendly one in Wall-E," Paula says.
Dinner is $2 fried noodles and vegetables in a neon-lit restaurant that must be nearing 100 degrees. A large fan lazily turns above our heads; a small, furry grey dog in a colorful sweater lays sluggish at our feet. Pas slaps a bug on her forearm as Kathy recounts recent progressions and a few setbacks in the Love146 prevention, aftercare, and partnership programs. It's Wednesday night and the last time I've seen a bed was Sunday. I dig my fingernails into my arm to keep the drowsy, seductive heat at bay.
It's dark by 8:00 p.m. and we start the 15-minute walk from our hotel to one of the red light districts. Vendors swarm both edges of the sidewalk, where there is one; a sea of activ
ity that parts for us as we pass. We reach Phat Phong and Kristian, Matt and I stand at the head of the street while the rest of the team scouts for water. A bleached-haired young boy, no more than seven or eight, helps his mother hang "Trainspotting" t-shirts in a booth lining the street. Two men stand in front of it with little hand cards they flash at the passersby. They simply say, "DVD Sex." As we wait, we are approached by two women bearing laminated sheets the size of a greeting cards; it is a list of sex options with set prices. We wave off these lists probably more than 20 times. Akon's "Beautiful" blares in the background.The six of us start down one of the main alleys. Knock off bags line the left side; bars, restaurants, and strip clubs/brothels are on the right. Neon signs above our heads flash phrases like "Super P*ssy," and dozens of girls gyrating in matching black bikinis are visible through entryways to each of the clubs. We pass a number of foreigners, some traveling as families, some alone. A particularly pushy man tries to convince a pregnant Kathy to step inside for a little peepshow. Most of the sellers ignore me and zero in on our two male team members, but some try to get us to buy, as well. The menus posted have lists and prices for food, dri
nks, and women--all on the same page.We weave up and down the alleys and see the stereotypical scene, straight out of a seedy television movie; the older, slightly overweight, white-haired man leaning into a much younger Thai woman perched at a bar. In some of the bars, the women sit on numbered bar stools and are purchased by their seat. Others have green buttons with numbers on the front of their dresses. I pass a girl donning the number 17, and she didn't look like she could possibly be any older than that.
The girls are dressed in everything from short dresses with plenty of cleavage to a lavender evening gown knotted at the shoulder to a latex nurse Halloween costume. Some are laughing and coquettish; but most simply sit looking bored and checked out, their eyes completely glazed over. And still, we pass more men. The majority of the Thai sex trade is propagated by Thai men, but this area is a mecca for foreigners. The air is sticky, full of sweat and bodies, neon lights, blaring music, and the voices of pimps selling sex.
The last corridor is possibly the worst--a lane specifically touting young boys. Twinkling blue and red lights thread through the sky above our heads and a rainbow sign advertises "Dream Boys." Thai men in drag bat false eyelashes at us and shout "Pretty boys," gesturing at the skinny teenagers slumped in a line of chairs in front of the bar. These sellers are especially aggressive, blocking our way and trying to usher us in the clubs for a free peek. One puts his lips right up to my ear a
nd half whispers, half snarls an expletive invitation for one of his boys. My stomach turns with a sudden wave of the sick sweetness of secondhand pipe smoke.We have seen just the beginning of what we are up against. We turn to walk back to our hotel and pass a woman sitting on the street, her very young son and daughter fanned out beside her on the concrete. It's clear that they have gone to sleep for the night.
In front of our hotel is a small elephant. Its handlers move it toward our group and make it perform for us: a high-pitched greeting and bow of its trunk. Any other time I might have clapped and been delighted; but tonight it is just another forced show, another desperate dollar. The glass doors of the hotel slide open and I feel a weariness, physically and emotionally, set in. But most of all it is pure relief, crashing over me, to ride the elevator away from the street; to deadbolt the door; to feel the cold shower water melt away the dirt and heat and smell; to close my eyes.
