A Tale of Two Thailands
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still in Bangkok; I am mostly recovered (thank you to all who reached out). Because of some unseasonable rain this morning, the temperature has cooled down to a muggy 85 Fahrenheit with about a thousand percent humidity. Perhaps later today we can go looking for monitor lizards in the park.
A Tale of Two Thailands
Lee and I come to Thailand for many reasons. Obviously, our kids are here—it will always be home-away-from-home for us. Or maybe it’s just home, period. Sometimes I get caught up in that semantic puzzle: what is home-away-from-home for a person who has no home?
In the last decade, we’ve spent more than a year in Thailand (367 days in total). Part of that time was during Covid—when beaches felt safer than cities—but even so, it’s the country where we’ve spent the most aggregated time in our wanderings. We just love being here, kids notwithstanding.
When I’m somewhere else, I occasionally hear a smattering of Thai words on the street, or I catch a fleeting whiff of lemongrass, or I see the smoldering remains of a joss stick poking out of a cup or can, and a wave of longing washes over me. It doesn’t matter where I am—I’m always missing Thailand.
A few things I love about this place:
Complex, surprising food that bears no resemblance to the pale, sloppy imitations that pass for Thai food beyond these borders.
Unparalleled tropical fruit—sweet, ripe, beautiful, delicious. Ripe Thai papaya is—I kid you not—a revelation.
Spirit houses everywhere you look—every building has one. Some are crumbling and faded; most are pristine white and gold, but all are respected and lovingly maintained.
Malls. The malls are glorious—I can’t help myself. They’re air-conditioned and full of food. What’s not to love?
The haunting, melodic call of the koel bird.
The relief of stepping off a cacophonous street into a random quiet temple complex—the noise of motorbikes and cars and trains fades into the background so I can focus fully on the sweat dripping down my back, my face, my shins.
When I get my hair cut here, a full massage of my head, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands is included. It’s bliss.
Medical care is inexpensive, excellent quality, and efficient (most problems can be dealt with in a matter of days or even hours—none of this make-an-appointment-wait-get-a-referral-wait-schedule-procedure-wait bullshit).
I adore the beaches, and Chiang Mai, and there’s so much more of the country that I want to see.
Mostly, though (I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again and again until I fall into a sewer and die) I love the people. Perhaps it’s because I’m from the American South, but I love a culture where people smile a lot. Thailand is known as the land of smiles, and that’s no trite nickname. I’m a smiler. People here smile and touch and hug. It is a welcoming country—the kind of place that makes me feel at home.
But here’s the uncomfortable twist to my appreciation: a lot of people come here for a different reason.
Tourist arrivals in Bangkok are up dramatically this season. When Lee and I realized we needed to stay a couple of extra weeks for my hysteroscopy, we had to scramble a bit to find a reasonably priced room. So we moved to a perfectly nice Sheraton in the Nana neighborhood—an area with a bit of a reputation.
Nana is known, to put it delicately, for its sex industry. By day, it’s busy and bustling and heaving with tourists. At night, there’s a different vibe in the air. The bars overflow, music booms, people get loud and happy, and the funk of pot punctuates the exhaust fumes.
It’s a vibrant party scene, but being aware of Nana’s reputation, I started paying attention to who the tourists are. They come from all over the world: families, couples, and groups of friends. But there’s also a noticeable number of male-only groups and, strikingly, many solo men.
A LOT of solo men. And the longer I sit with that fact, the more it has irritated (more accurately: enraged) me.
I felt compelled to understand this aspect of Bangkok better. So around 9 pm last Saturday, because I knew I had never really encountered the sex industry here, and because I didn’t think I could formulate my thoughts about it without at least one direct look, Lane agreed to stroll with me down Soi Cowboy, one of the city’s notorious red-light streets.
Soi Cowboy is lined with bars and clubs, each patio spilling over with men, mostly foreign, drinks in hand, ogling the women who work there. The women are everywhere. Not one is wearing clothing, other than sheer, skimpy underwear and heels. It was honestly a little stunning. After we turned back onto the main road, I had to just process for a few minutes, before I was able to articulate the only parallel I could think of: it looked like a market where human bodies are displayed for inspection—not visibly shackled, but somehow still bound by economic necessity and inequality.
To be clear about two points: I’m no stranger to the reality that prostitution exists worldwide, in most (if not all) countries. I am neither surprised nor shocked by the scale of prostitution, here or elsewhere. I know that prostitution and sex tourism are entrenched, complex global problems.
Nor do I blame or judge the sex workers themselves. I am all too cognizant of the socio-economic factors that constrain choices and push them into this industry.
What unsettles and angers me are the tourists who come specifically for this. In particular, the men: as far as I can tell, they come to this country, this city, specifically for cheap sex.
These men don’t seem interested in the Thailand I love—the cultural treasures, the art, the temples, the warmth of the people. Are they going to see the reclining Buddha during the day? Are they going to a meditation retreat? Are they wandering galleries, supporting the arts community? Are they learning about ancient Siam? Do they recognize that Thailand has an identity beyond the sex trade? I think not.
I know this isn’t true of all visitors. Many people come to Thailand with curiosity, respect, and openness. But the global association of Thailand with cheap sex is pervasive, and it offends me to my core. It erases complexity and humanity, portraying a vibrant, layered place like a caricature.
I don’t pretend to have answers. The problems here—poverty, global inequalities, and the long shadows cast by colonial histories—are complicated. Still, I can’t help feeling indignant: this is a country I love for countless reasons. To see it treated by some as nothing more than a bargain brothel angers me and breaks my heart.
Rant over, but not forgotten.
Take care,
Lisa
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