Hat Lamai Postcard



The obvious option was to head south into Cambodia, the next country on my agenda.

But, instead, I found myself leaning against at a bar in Bangkok. A well-dressed lady approached, her long silvery legs striding confidently. She could wrap her firm thighs around my waist and I would be trapped forever, helpless.

But forever, is a long time, and while we waited, she whispered sweet nothings, encouraging me to feel the silky skin of her throat.

Kinky, feeling enchanted, I clasped for the bulge in my trousers, my wallet, but upon its creaky opening, found its contents empty.

“Never fear.” I assured her “I will be right back.”

And with those words I sped back to my hotel room where I had hidden local currency at the bottom of my backpack.

Ronald McDonald

My heart was racing. The exercise mixed with exultation was causing my heart to throb and my mind to spin. Somehow I composed myself and 15 minutes later I was back at the bar.


Things where not as they had once seemed; shadows had risen from the dark, sobriety had cast a light into corners and what were once strangers could now be either of the sexes.

My eyes caught the shape of the silky stranger, approaching.

Panicked, my throat dry, I turned and sprinted out into the warm, humid, sweaty air.

It was still early evening but the main street of the bar district was becoming more and more crowded.

It was a good place to hide.

It was a good time to fall and rise again, until we had taken all our own strength, and wasted it on nothing of lasting significance.

And so off to another bar it was...


I was lying on the Hat Lamai beach, on the island of Ko Samui, southern Thailand. The beach was quite some distance south of Cambodia, a night and a day by bus.

I had put a crank in my back getting here, riding on the back of a taxi motorbike for the last 15 kilometres of a journey from the island’s port, my backpack swinging wildly, with me attached.

Passing time, wandering down the nondescript, standard South East Asian streets or simply lying on the beach, I was waiting for the bars to open.

Rocky I in meat works
Rocky I

The afore mentioned bars surrounded a Thai Boxing ring, lady set upon lady, man set upon man, all on centre stage.

Upon dusk we had all come to watch the ladies, brutal intent inscribed upon their toned features.

And those were not the Thai Boxers.

It was Rocky I without the bloodshed.

Welcome to the meat market.