February 24, 2019 By bangkok7
Hey there, stranger. Long time no see. It’s your man Seven, reporting as always stage-side in a red-light gogo bar. For this weekly, I’m paying tribute to a pillar of Patpong—Bada Bing gogo on Soi 2. At the end of this month, they will close their doors, remodel, and re-emerge as something else. Most likely, a nightclub for the mainstream tourists that are slowly taking over Patpong like—what do I want to say—cancer is too strong a word. Anyway, I couldn’t let this milestone pass without offering my personal goodbye to one of my all-time favorite gogos. So here goes…
You were one of my first. Before you, it was just the seabreeze beer bars of Phuket and Samui, and the sterile, unfriendly-all-business chill of Cowboy and Nana. As a wet-behind-the-ears whoremonger in training, your bright lights, pumping bass, and gorgeous dancers woke all six of my sex senses. It was you and Electric Blue (also gone, sadly) that tutored me in the ways of the gogo Jedi (or Godi for short, copyright BKK7). My head veritably swam with sensation overload. Two floors teeming with T and A. You were glorious. Intimidated by the overwhelming bevy of babes, I was content to sit quietly in a corner and take you in. After every visit, I went home and downloaded the DJ’s setlist into my iPod so I could relive the memory of you during the work-a-day. Your dancers were the best in the red-light—fearless, fearsome, formidable, freaky, and fine. Every provocative curve, every sultry swerve, every sly smile bewitched bedazzled and beguiled. A hypnotic throng of bold seductresses owning your stage like sex warriors. The scene took my breath away.
The first girl I ever barfined was a Bing girl. What a ride that was. Her body was a theme park, and she knew it. I was merely a passenger on a roller coaster of her making. I couldn’t tell who had more fun—me or my naughty tour guide. And I was a tourist, at that time—barely fluent in the language of the red-light, wandering naively through that world like a mark. I had a virtual target on my back. But no one in the Bing took advantage of me. In fact, I felt safer there than in any other gogo in Bangkok. The staff remembered my name and preferred cocktail after only one visit, and your manager announced my arrival over the microphone each time, shook my hand, and led me personally to my seat at the edge of the stage. For five years running. Without fail. Now that’s what I call hospitality.
I’ve now known some of your dancers for ages. They remind me of old schoolmates, so integral were they to my education in all things gogo. Now, as they migrate and integrate into Glamour’s already hot set, I know they’ll take along some of that shine that could never wear off of a Bing girl. That Bing bling. It’s a mixture of confidence, sultry sass, skill, seduction, silliness, friendliness, and mischief that draws every gaze in the room. Bada Bing had a talent for finding and refining those girls. Like a glamorous gang, they are. It’s fitting that they go on to do their dazzling dance at a gogo with that name.
But it won’t be quite the same.
Yes, all good things must come to an end, and as you evolve into a nightclub or whatever new entity, while it’s sure to do well, your incarnation as the great Bada Bing will be missed. I have a feeling your business partner’s new joint at the old Radio City will be popular, and I’m sure your success will continue over at Glamour, where I already regularly toss back vodka. But I will always have a soft spot (or hard spot) in my memory for you–for the Bing. It was a special place at a special time. The time before the junta and a global economic slump, when everything was better. Before Seven became a jaded cynic, when the red-light was nothing but thrill after marvelous thrill. To me, you’ll always be the representation of that time. You are the symbol of it in my mind. Of what a gogo could be and should be.
So as you take your final bow, I want to thank you for how gently you broke me in. As I got my feet wet, my beak wet, and other…things wet (like my whistle), you helped me fall in love with Patpong. And even as I witness Glamour taking on your signature vibe already, with more raucous music, a larger stage, and double the number of sexy dancers, I’ll always remember you as one of the best. If you reopen as a disco, although I won’t trip the light fandango on your dance floor (I’m a pretty pathetic dancer), I’ll stop in now and then for a drink, if only to take a stumble down memory lane before heading over to Glamour and your partner’s as-yet unnamed new place on Soi 1. Or, if one rumor I heard turns out to be true and you re-open as another gogo bar with a different interior, I’ll be right back in there to ogle your dancers with drunken abandon. Fingers crossed for the fruition of that last scenario.
Tonight I’ll raise a glass and toast your legacy. Darwapitalism (Darwinian capitalism, copyright BKK7) has caused you to go the way of the dodo, but you won’t be forgotten. You were one of the big guns of the Bangkok gogo scene. If not a godfather, at least a made man in the muff mafia of Patpong. Somewhere—maybe at the Old Other Office—someone should erect a wall of Pong heroes—an homage to the great gone gogos of yore. At the top, put framed pictures of Electric Blue and Bada Bing. Two titans of titillation past. And on the 28th, when it’s time to turn out the lights, I hope your DJ will play Sinatra’s “My Way.” I’d surely drink to that.
Check back Friday for a Frowback and Sunday for the weekly, and until then, keep your balls warm, your beer cold, and cheers to double the number of hotties at Glamour. That joint’s gonna be crazy from the concentrated sexual potency of so many dimes in one place. I’m pretty excited to see it. And if you’re around this week, swing in to Bada Bing before the 28th–it might be your last chance. Word to your mothers.