Don't Be Sick on The Ladyboy

I'd finally done it. After travelling almost a week in Thailand through Bangkok, Chiang Rai and a day through Chiang Mai I'd finally had a conversation with a person. A conversation that lasted longer than two minutes. And best of all my co-conversationalist was not trying to steal from me or even sell me something. He was just a Swedish backpacker interested in talking to me about yoga and why I should quit my job. Sure, they weren't my most knowledgeable topics, but I was happy to go along for the ride.

I arrived in Chiang Mai in the late morning and, aware I was an hour or so earlier than I need to be to check in to my hostel, I thought I'd drop off my bags at my lodgings and get some lunch. Walking down from one of the main gates of the walled old city, I got to my small, down-the-alley accommodation. I managed to arrive just as the owner was leaving to do some shopping. Kindly he insisted that I check in early.

Talking off my shoes at the door I walked over the threshold into the small main room of the brick terrace. Suddenly I was overcome by the heat. It was hotter inside than out. And outside it was hot. And humid. There was no air conditioning to be seen and the fans were all off. Sweat suddenly began flowing out of areas of me that I didn't know could sweat. Presumably the owner was stepping out not just to do the shopping but to enjoy the cool, thirty-eight degree Chiang Mai day?

Nevertheless I checked in and dropped my bags on my bed in the first floor dorm. Again, no fans on and the one window on the floor was closed. However there was an air conditioner in the convenient setting of "off." Realising I would need to spend the rest of the afternoon outside I quickly got a bag together, afraid that I'd develop heatstroke indoors. Just as I left I noticed a sign on the wall. It said that the air conditioner was turned on at six in the evening and off at ten in the morning. It wa midday. Six o'clock seemed an eternity away.

I spent the afternoon walking. Lots of walking. Through temples, through the old city, through traffic and through parks. Eventually I needed to get back to the hostel. I looked at my watch - four thirty. Still too early. But I was tired. So I headed back to the hostel and sat on the one bench out the front, enjoying the sweltering heat outside rather than the roasting heat inside.

It was here that I met my Swedish friend. After chatting for a while I realised he was not staying at the hostel but rather was a friend of someone who was. Soon we were joined by two American girls and I was asked if I wanted to join them for dinner in the markets followed by a ladyboy show. A conversation with a Swede, dinner with real people and the chance of being flirted with by a transsexual. Could this day get any better?

We chatted and sweated our way through the evening markets. I started with a papaya salad. "Should I get the fermented fish one?" I pondered to myself. Nah just get the extra spicy one. The woman said it's local so it must be good. Noodles, fried coconut cakes and steamed dumplings followed. I finished the evening's moving buffet with banana roti bathed in condensed milk. I think it was at this point that I started to feel a bit off.

"We're gonna head to the ladyboy show soon," one of my fellow travellers said, "we're just gonna  head back to the hostel and get some more people." And so we did. As we passed by expat bars and massage parlours with women suggestively trying to exhibit their full list of services, I started feeling a bit sick. "C'mon," I thought to myself, "stop trying to make yourself feel sick just because you don't want to go to a ladyboy show. We don't do that type of hypochondria anymore."

We picked up some more people from the hostel. Still not feeling good. We walked down the main street again. Still not feeling good. We arrived at the bar. Still not feeling good. We sat down. Where is the bathroom? I felt like throwing up.

I sat at the table for a few minutes as thoughts flooded my brain. What would happen if one of the ladyboys brought me on to stage? What if I threw up on her? Or shat my pants? Would it be seen as some sort of hate crime? I was not trying to be culturally insensitive, I was genuinely feeling sick. What if I ended up in a ladyboy prison with all the deadbeat, middle-aged American men who'd gotten a bit handsy with their Thai escort or had asked their masseuse for a little something more at the end of their massage? I didn't want to find out. In a mad rush, I left the bar and the first people I had actually gotten along with in Thailand.

I went to sleep in my air conditioned room (it was after six), feeling hot and nauseous. I woke the next morning not feeling much better. I wanted to sleep the rest of the day but I knew that the room would become a torture chamber in three hours time. I quickly managed to book a private room at a hotel around the corner, said my goodbyes to the hostel owner, got lost getting to the hotel and spent the rest of my day in Chiang Mai in bed.

I'd return to Chiang Mai a few days after in much better spirits. I'd enjoy cooler lodgings, hike a mountain to a jungle temple and visit the large city zoo. All while ensuring I never shat my pants in front of a ladyboy.