STOLL/Falling Uphill ©2005
4
smkstoll@yahoo.com
water and ice is filtered and shipped to the restaurants. It is a relief not to have to filter tepid tap water,
which turns into steamy, moldy soup in my water bottles. I eat about 5 times a day not counting snacks of
fried bananas and mangosteen fruit.
We have arrived somewhere. Photos of glamorous women frame the entrance. "Is this nowhere?"
"Yes. Nowhere. You go look."
I enter the ritzy parlor with a long bar, plenty of mirrors and the glamorous women promised by the
advertisement peppered throughout the seats. "Hello," they all chime. A man wearing an inexpensive silk
suit approaches. There is no flicker of the all-purpose Thai smile.
Trying not to laugh, I ask, "Is this Nowhere?"
"Please, come this way." He leads me to a stool in front of a large window. Seated behind the glass
are approximately fifty women painted like mannequins, each wearing a number. They come to life as if
my host has pushed a button under the table. Smiling, waving, blowing kisses, winking, cooing: all the
women have a trademark motion or sound byte.
"Where are we?"
"Pick one?" he says.
"They all look the same to me."
"You no like girls?" Thailand offers a wide range of options, from girls to boys and everything in-
between.
"Really, I can't tell them apart. Is this nowhere?"
"No, this is Cupid's Massage." He points to a neon sign on the wall decorated with hearts and
cherubs.
"Oh a massage parlor, of course." My curiosity sidetracks me, "How much is a massage?"
"4500 baht."
"That's a bit expensive."
"How much you pay?"
"You tell me?"
