Don't Go To Patong

Patong is the most annoying place I have ever been.

After a week on Ko Yao Noi, I returned to Phuket’s Bangrong Pier, where three cab drivers gathered to pick up the sucker farang and deliver us to the airport or our beachfront hotels. The cabbies had apparently split up the island into territories — only one would go to Patong, and the others just pointed to him. When I asked how much, he invited in the office to “check the price sheet.” This is an old trick: upon entered I would immediately be assailed by a swarm of activities and transportations vendors trying to make up. “Just tell me the price,” I entreated. He wouldn't budge from 1000 baht (about $35) so I tentatively made my way on public transportation, at the cost of about 90 baht ($3).

On the bus, I overheard the usual how-long-have-you-been-here conversation. One party was an Australian on a quick holiday, but the other was an American who had been around for 25 years — astoundingly, in the same hotel room. “The people have changed — both the Thais and the farang. The quality of people is different. The reasons why they are here are different. This place is rotten to the core.” Had I been a party to this conversation, I certainly would have asked why he still lived here.

Approaching my hotel, the Ashlee Centra, right across the street from (sigh) the Hard Rock Cafe, I knew that this was not the Thailand I wanted to be in. Patong is a sprawling tourist ghetto teeming with overpriced and touristy restaurants, souvenirs, tailors, and sexy massages. The beach is awash with white plastic chairs, packed together like sardines, rentable for 300 baht ($10) per day.

Someone accosted me at every storefront I walk by. Tailors greeted me with a faux-friendly handshake attempt and “nice to meet you boss! You want a suit? Why you not want a suit?” Every restaurant frontman shoved a menu in my face. Masseuses, undeterred by a polite “no thanks,” awkwardly stroked my arms to try to lure me in.

Avoid eye contact… avoid eye contact…

Amazing how this can all pop up just because of its proximity to a stretch of sand that, amongst the pantheon of Southeast Asian beaches, can hardly hold its own. Clearly the beach is, at this point, secondary.

After a quick dinner of mediocre Indian food, I headed over to check out the scene at Patong’s terrifying Bangla Road. Living in China I have seen my share of sketchy bar streets — Shanghai’s old Tongren Lu comes to mind — but this dwarfed them all. The bars were variations on a theme: they all served undoubtedly watered-down cocktails and were  with hyperaggressive bargirls clearly prepared to use any means at their disposal to help part you from your baht. This being Thailand, some of these bargirls had Adam's apples and suspiciously large hands. Some bars had names like “Diablo A-Go-Go,” admirably typeset in the real Diablo font, or “Suzy Wong’s Ass-Smacking Fun.” Clearly this was a place were even trademark lawyers feared to tread, or maybe they had so much ass-smacking fun once they got there that they forgot why they came.

A half hour and a thousand solicitations later, I walked back to my hotel (alone!) and called it night. The next day I lounged by the rooftop swimming pool at my hotel and waited to be whisked me off to the dock at Khao Lak, far far away from all this.