About that time I spent a week with a sex worker
The surprises of a holiday romance
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Some years ago, around 22 in fact, I made a brilliant decision.
Instead of slogging it out with my pals studying for finals and undoubtedly having a minor breakdown, I chose all coursework modules for my final semester at university, took out a student loan and embarked on a whistle stop round the world trip.
Many things happened on this 6 week jaunt. Some more interesting than others. It didn’t start well. My pal and I arrived at our LA hostel to find it was a mixed dorm. The male occupants belongings included pornographic magazines and used tissues. We left immediately. In hindsight these men/boys might have set this scene up for ‘fun’, but I have a finely honed danger radar and almost always listen to it. Off we jolly well went!
Maybe I’ll tell you about the highlights of this trip another time. There were some, ahem, interesting events. But the one I need to tell you about, in order to get onto the main part of this little story, is that in New Zealand, in a hostel bar, I met B. He was a tiny bit older, had been ‘travelling’ for some time and had a relaxed attitude to life. He said stupid things like ‘we’re here for a good time, not for a long time’. God knows why, but I liked him. So much so I went home with him.
Once back in England B and I emailed, hatching a plan of how I might join him later that summer in Thailand; his last stop off before returning home to begin training as a barrister. You see, those devil-may-care types all have a back up plan. Anyway, I graduated, got a job in a local bar, booked some flights to Thailand, fell in love with my boss N (from the bar - more on him another time), and then didn’t really want to go and meet B, but the flight was booked so off I went. I felt sad about leaving N but then I was also 22 and you do tend to feel things deeply at that age, though conversely you also get over heart aching pain faster than in your 40’s. I hold a grudge these days, I really do.
The flight was a dream. A Qatar airlines cheap return with a stop off in Doha. I was upgraded on the way out due to another Western traveller refusing a complimentary upgrade as it didn’t extend to his Thai wife. Good for him. I kind of wish I hadn’t been upgraded as the problem with seeing the other side of the curtain is that once you’ve experienced it you can’t un-experience it. My goodness it was glorious. Wine on tap, delicious food, treated like a minor yet attractive Royal. Trusted with cutlery! (Remember this was 2002 so air travel was still scary stuff post 9/11). It was heavenly. The Doha stop off was less fun. The heat oppressive. I was escorted to the stop over hotel due to being in possession of a vagina. Apparently it wasn’t safe for me otherwise.
I bought a cup of sweet tea in the extremely cold air conditioned hotel bar and was joined by a divorced pilot who bored me for 2 hours with tales of his evil ex-wife. He cried meagre tears when holding up dog eared photos of his brood. The pictures looked old. I wondered if there was a non molestation order in place. I decided to sympathise with him, just on the off chance he might be flying me on to Bangkok. Nobody wants an upset pilot do they? Years later I took a black cab from Leeds station to Harrogate where the taxi driver regaled me with tales of his awful wife and explained the only way to make a better woman of her was to beat her. I neither agreed nor disagreed, fearing for my own safety. I didn’t tip him that’s for sure, but then felt bad in case he beat his wife due to poor takings that day. I wonder if men who transport people have a higher instance of psychopathy or at the very least, controlling behaviour?
B and I had agreed to meet in Bangkok airport. The plan was clear beyond clear, but he wasn’t at arrivals with all the other folk holding cardboard signs with felt tip surnames. No matter, he was probably delayed for a good reason. I found a seat and waited. And waited. I called him from a pay phone. He didn’t answer. After 40 minutes I realised that I may well be in Thailand without anywhere to stay and any idea of where to go. You see, I’d relied on a man for my accommodation and a plan. Idiot.
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