PingPong.

***This one discusses our work with organizations that address sex trafficking throughout Asia -- please be advised about the nature of this post.***

Ping. Pong.

Everyone was feeling a bit tired, so we decided to see a bit of Bangkok at night. Khao San Road. Where the hippies hang, and all the Western tourists find themselves. Here you can buy random trinkets, find two-for-one drink specials, and indulge in henna tattoos and hair locks on the street.

Our guesthouse had a staff person flag down a tuk-tuk for us. It was a chance to ride in the Thai transportation of choice, to have the pungent open air fill our lungs as we took in the splendor of the royal city at night.

For only 100 baht, we sped around corners and down sidestreets, allured by the colorful lighting of temples we did not understand, enticed by the endless multitudes of street vendors preparing the delicious fare we could not recognize.

We arrived. Leia's locks caught the attention and admiration of the Thai Rastafarians. We had already become accustomed to the noticeable lack of presence of black people in these parts. We were a commodity, folks openly staring, gaping, even tripping over themselves as we walked by.

Down Khao San we went. Picking up the random bangle here, examining the silk purse there, watching the traditionally-dressed women hawk little wooden frogs that, with the help of a small instrument, imitated the call of their real-life counterparts. I had my eyebrows done for one dollar. We stopped to have some gelato. We walked around a bit more, then were off to negotiate our tuk-tuk home.

"250 baht," he said. I eyed him in disbelief, before asserting that 100 baht was my final price. A cardinal rule of negotiation is to always begin lower than your actual price, but I knew I was fair, and I hate feeling cheated. He tried to bargain me up, but I refused (some of you know my stubborn side).

"I am only a student," I insisted. "We came here for 100 baht, we are going home for 100 baht. That's it."

I was tired, and not having much trouble remaining firm. I conspicuously glanced over toward the row of tuk-tuk drivers, all eagerly positioned to serve one of Khao San Road's rich, naieve patrons.

"Ping-Pong," I heard the man say. He repeated it several times, but I had no idea his meaning. As I began to walk away, he followed and handed me a card. In neat, bold face type, I made out the phrase to which he pointed:


PING PONG SEX SHOW

Startled, I knocked his hand away in disgust. The man was upset at such an affront, an unusual response of agression and emotion from me in an uber-polite culture. He immediately arranged our tuk-tuk home. The price: 100 baht.

The moment of anger lingered but soon passed as we found ourselves again riding through the windy streets of the city, away from all of the madness. I had been so offended by the man's proposal. A Sex Show?!?!?? Who did he think I was? Leia quietly shook her head (as she tends to do), and quietly responded, "I wonder how many people answer 'yes,' though?" I didn't want to think of the answer.

A little ways ahead, we saw some tourists, all women, taking pictures in another tuk-tuk. All smiles, they laughed and waved, as our tuk-tuk drivers passed each other back and forth along the open roadways. They shouted to us and yelled, American-college-style, in our direction. We waved and yelled playfully back - it felt good to be in Thailand on tuk-tuk.

Until we came to the stoplight. The girls' tuk-tuk made a sharp right turn away from us. Our driver smiled and pointed after them, saying the words that broke my heart; "Ping-Pong Show."

This time, I didn't need any card to spell out the scenario for me. Leia and I looked at each other with a deep sense of sadness. The girls in the tuk-tuk had probably been excited to see us because they had assumed that we, too, would see the ping pong show that night. Those girls, had, like thousands and thousands of tourists come and gone, answered "yes" to the invitation to participate in the first lair - sex shows - of what is one of the most renown sex trades and trafficking industries in the world. While at their open bar and show on the first floor of the tall buildings you find in Bangkok, they would probably be offered menus from which they might choose sexual acts to watch or participate in. For men, some may even be invited to the upper floors -- working brothels -- or whisked away to where the youngest, most vulnerable victims of sex trafficking - children - would be held captive for the enjoyment (ie, abuse) of tourists from around the world.

Ping. Pong.

Do we not know that lives hang in the balance because of the games we choose to play?


(from Amey's journal, June 19)