Chicken-Farm Pattaya

A friend had this to relate the other day.

“At seven-thirty in the morning they turned up at my gate, bottles of beer in their hands, laughing their heads off. They’d forgotten the keys to their condo, left them in my car. Coming noisily into the house, my nephew told me they’d just had an experience that even I who have lived ten years in Pattaya could never have experienced. “Quieten down!” I told them, pushing the laughing pair into the bedroom so that my partner’s daughter and granddaughter could continue to sleep. Inside the bedroom, with the door shut, with them leaning out of the window to smoke, they told me they’d hit the bars, then the discos, and at five-thirty in the morning gone to their favourite massage-parlour where their preferred girls were leaving to get some sleep. Disappointed, they’d asked a Thai motorbike taxi-driver to take them somewhere great.

He’d sped down Sukhumvit and out of Pattaya towards Chonburi, taken a right after twenty minutes and arrived at a very Cambodian-like chicken-farm stuck in the middle of nowhere.

The girls appeared and two were chosen but while choosing, two large Rottweilers leapt out, one jumping over some of the lined-up girls’ heads. The big, black dogs were restrained but my nephew and his friend were suitably impressed by the security on this chicken farm. The motorbike taxi-guy got his cut, waited for the pair, and thundered back into Pattaya with the helmetless lads. They found they had no keys so turned up outside my gate at seven-thirty in the morning. I’d told them that the most dangerous thing to do in Pattaya was to ride helmetless on motorbikes but they’d done it. Out in the countryside on the equivalent of a chicken farm with rottweilers jumping and frothing was not safe, either. Anything could have happened. Couldn’t it? But there they were laughing uproariously while Lady Fortune smiled in the background, rubbing her worn hands together.”

Near misses galore.

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