Nightmarch

So, on a recent night out I decided to wander into a few of these establishments- accompanied by a mate- particularly as rumours suggested a couple of these dens of the chrome pole had really lifted their game.

Sir Thomas might want More: The first place we tried was Utopia, at the southern end of Walking Street. The last time I was in here the chrome pole molesters consisted of what appeared to be moonlighting Sumo wrestlers. This time it was a completely different story. Arriving at the start of the evening it was no surprise the place was empty, though I imagine it would fill up later. As with most dens, when the night kicks off, the entire dancing troupe are paraded on the main stage so we had a pretty good eyeful of the current candy. Slim is the new Utopian ideal and the majority of the 20 or so wallet emptiers would easily have qualified for the ‘after’ side of any weight watchers advertisement. The mamasans would, as might be expected, still qualify for the ‘before’ section of said commercial. The dancers, while of far better quality than previously, have a strange dress code. Most came on stage in a bikini, although a g-string was usually underneath. Others would lose the top part of their apparel, while others would remain dressed as if they were about to head off to the beach. Draft amber fluid is the discounted thirst quencher at 55 baht, although the auditory selections are still sourced from the Reject Bin at the Crap-is-Us Musical Outlet. Not great, but Utopia is certainly a lot better than it was.

Rubber, without the Soul: We then strolled into Soi 16 off Walking Street to investigate the Covent Garden clutch of go-go bars. First stop was Club Boesche. I am sure it is no secret that Club Boesche is but a shadow of its former self. We were the only customers, which is always going to make having a really positive experience difficult, but the malaise is almost palpable. The music was far too loud; perhaps the DJ imagined he was playing to a full house in a dance club, not an empty go-go bar. On the positive side there are plenty of dancers, probably 30 or more. In terms of quality they varied from good to average, many displaying enough flesh to leave nothing to the imagination. What is different, according to a hostess who sat with me to have a chat, is Club Boesche are now into shows. These consist of flowers, razor blades, darts and the like; the very shows the majority of expats find about as alluring as having your testicles plunged into an ice bucket. There is a hide-the-rubber-salami show featuring one female dancer as the receiver and another dancer who probably shouts, “I’m strapped on baby. Are you ready for the ride of your life!!” We didn’t stay for the aforementioned show, which starts at about 10:00 pm each night, so I can’t comment on whether it’s worth the effort or not.

No confession is enough to save these Sins: I knew it was going to be an ordinary experience when the Thai manager collared us outside the entrance to Sin City (opposite Club Boesche). Dressed in garb that made him look like a cross between Wyatt Earp and Annie Oakley and not much taller than the hood ornament on a Cadillac, he guided us into the den. It was all downhill after that. To be fair there were plenty of dancers, and some very easy on the optic nerve. Sadly, the place is let down by the number of chrome pole molesters for whom a McDonald’s Big Breakfast and a Diet Coke have probably replaced a bowl of noodles as their main meal of the day. Of course there were some attractive damsels, as well as the almost-obligatory katoey, just in case that’s what a customer happens to be after, but not enough to raise this place much above a mediocre rating. The Jacuzzi, stuck almost as an after-thought in a back corner, strikes me as a waste of time. Girls take turns getting soaked in the thing, some apparently quite reluctantly judging by one lady who kept a towel wrapped around her torso for as long as she thought she could get away with it.

The ambience in the joint left a lot to be desired. Even something as mundane as the upholstery on the bench seating at the back of the bar, desperately in need of repair, lowered the overall tone of the place. Draft amber is 45 baht.

X really does mark the spot: The X-Zone go-go, up a flight of very poorly designed/constructed stairs, has never been a place to get my excitement juices flowing, but on my most recent foray I have to confess to being impressed. The bar is oversized, which to my mind has always made it difficult to maintain consistency in terms of quality. The seating always puts me in mind of a bus shelter located in the centre of a traffic island, with long bench seats running in parallel lines down the centre of the bar. This means punters on one side are facing in the opposite direction to punters sat behind them. The music, as with most dens, is the usual dross, but at least it’s at a tolerable auditory level. Where X-Zone makes up for its shortcomings is in the numbers of wallet emptiers cavorting about the place in more a state of undress than dress, with a reasonable number well worth a second look. Thirst quenchers are definitely at the wallet gouging level with lolly water 110 baht and a bottle of San Miguel amber nectar 135 baht. Worth a look, but make sure you have plenty of wedge in the wallet.

Dwellers on the threshold: You don’t have to be a genius to realize the Toyz go-go (the first den on the left as you enter the Covent Garden clutch of chrome pole palaces) is hanging on by the skin of its teeth. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad joint, it’s not. There were 20 or so ladies of dubious virtue in the den, enough to make this narrow joint look busy and some were reasonably attractive. At one stage I counted six dancers on the stage and not one had a tattoo. Is this legal nowadays? The girls are generally friendly without being pushy. Draft amber fluid is 65 baht all night while lady drinks are 115 baht.

Looking for a free ride: I made mention of the new plunge pools in the Casnovy go-go (Walking Street) in the last issue but one aspect of this busy den I neglected to note was the surprising number of Thai male customers. Most appeared to be regulars, with bottles of expensive whisky lodged within the bar. A strong rumour suggests quite a number of the showgirls who used to work in Casnovy left after being asked to perform mattress actress services with these Thai customers for no remuneration.

You make my heart go giddyup: Not sure if this is happening in all the bars which have stages upon which birthday-suited demimondaines lather themselves in soap suds, beat each other with those foam rubber lengths of pipe or explore their mutual cavities with nimble digits or darting tongues, but having a tip jar and coercing punters to slip notes into it seems to me like gilding the lily. This was the only downside as far as I was concerned on a recent foray into the Lollipop go-go bar (Walking Street). The den was quite busy and in the hour or so my mate and I spent in the place we watched as the bar fine tally quickly reduced the numbers of dancers to not much more than a handful. This is a friendly joint that doesn’t look much when you first walk in but could well rank as one of the hidden delights of Walking Street.