Finding Shangri-La in Thailand Part 1

by Jack Corbett

Imagine such a place as Shangri-La and that it actually exists, a place you can actually visit and experience where the food and drinks are cheap, the weather is warm, and the people are friendly.  And although there are admirers of French food who claim it’s the best in the world, the real cognoscenti will place Chinese food above it in its almost infinite variety and flavors.  Thai cooking  is similar to Chinese food, especially if you like it hot, but goes even better, being seemingly the culinary evolutionary development and perfection of what true sophisticates regard as the world’s finest. But this is all very nice but it doesn’t quite cut it as Shangri La, that mythical realm where women seem to grow on trees and are there for the taking.  In Shangri-La you would be the Sultan or Emperor with your own private harem, a king of kings, the man who demands and gets the best babes.  Which is impossible in the world we live in—at least for most of us.  Not true, for all you have to do is to open up your minds while dropping all of your preconceived notions about both culture and race, and take the plunge, both financially and emotionally to far distant lands.  If there’s anything I’ve ever written that you should pay close attention to, it’s this, go to Thailand and do it by signing up for the Man Tour.

Thailand's better than Shangri-La and here you can get more and better babes than the kings and sultans of Europe and Islam ever got. 

All of your preconceived notions about women will be changed forever.  You might even give up on American women.  And you might even wind up vowing to move to Thailand—it’s just that addictive. 

Here it is 2004, a long trip in time and experiences since 1979 when I went to Mainland China in that first year the country was opened up to American tourists.  China’s changed drastically since I was there,  with both its technology and economy joining those of the most developed nations of the world.  Back then I was not married and my mind was forever seeking whatever knowledge I had not yet obtained.   There were one billion Red Chinese in China I had reasoned.  Since the country was Communist back then we referred to Mainland China as Red China and Taiwan as Nationalist China.   This meant that the vast minority of Chinese who had been led by Chiang Kai Shek were Nationalists whereas the Reds were not.   So when I was a child growing up, there were the good guys and the bad guys.  Nationalists were good since they were patriots devoted to freeing all Chinese while bringing them into some form of Democratic fold, whereas Red was bad. 

And there were zillions of them.  In fact, there were so many of them that we could not hope to stop them with all the nuclear weapons we had.  In 1950 we had fought them in Korea when they used human wave attacks to swarm over our soldiers.  They were faceless automatons, unthinking servants of their Communist masters,  who were fearless of death and seemingly destined to take over the world.  Almost as bad were the Russians, Communists also.  And although there were more  of them than us,  there weren’t nearly as many faceless Russians as there were Red Chinese, who got their orders directly from Moscow or so I had been taught.  The Russians were to be equally feared since they were destined to blow us off the map while we in turn incinerated their cities.  We believed that then and during the 1950’s I had even helped my dad build a rudimentary nuclear bomb shelter that would supposedly protect all of us from nuclear fallout.  Both the Russians and the Red Chinese were brainwashed automatons programmed by their Communists masters.  While growing up we learned much of what we learned from “Current Events”, a special little newspaper that had been published for grade school students and brought into our schools and films brought into our classrooms that showed just how evil Communists were.  

By the time I got to the Peoples Republic of China in 1979 I had become an adult and much of my programming had been stripped away by a large amount of studying, about both China and Russia.  Sure there were one billion Red Chinese but that didn’t mean they’d all come swarming after us by swimming the ocean in a single mindset to kill all of us with whatever weapons they could find which included swords and pitchforks.  What one billion Chinese meant was half a billion women.  And out of that if one were to take away the old and the children, this still left at least a quarter million women one might be interested in having sex with.  Which considering that the average Chinese family was bringing in less than fifty dollars a month meant that I would be considered a multi millionaire by practically all Chinese.  And what Chinese woman in her right mind would turn away the opportunity to hook up with somebody like me.  I could have practically any woman I wanted in China.  Women so good looking  as to put even our most ravishing movie stars to shame once one got past the fact that their skins were darker, their eyes looked different and that they hadn’t started wearing sexy looking Western style clothing yet, started wearing their hair like American and European women, or pouring expensive perfume all over themselves.  Red China had changed for me, no longer being the threatening, faceless scourge of mankind.  It had become the haven for the ultimate babes. 

But that would all change with the women of all my dreams taking the form of Thai women, but first I would have to make the gravest mistake of my life.  I just had to get married, which might not have been so bad, but I just had to choose an American woman to torture myself with.   

Marriage American style 

She had two children from a previous marriage.  I wound up for the most part supporting her and her children but since she was the natural mother whereas I was merely the step father, I had no right to discipline the children. I was there to pay the bills.   Looking back on it all, I think that in her grand scheme of things that I was also an ornament.  Not that I was all that great looking.  But as her spouse, and of course the stepfather for her children, I was there to legitimize the normalcy of “her household”.   Let’s say we were in public.  Oftentimes when she’d introduce me to someone she’d grab my hand and take me over to the person she was introducing me to.  The conversation would go something like this:  “Sophie, this is my husband, Jack.”   The woman would then acknowledge me by replying with something like:  “Hi Jack.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”   My wife might then interject a little about me such as “Jack farms five hundred acres”, or “Jack is an avid gun collector.”  I might then add a little to the conversation, but after I had said “enough” my wife would grab me by my hand and give it a little squeeze  in order to tell me that I had acted my part well enough, playing the script she had planned for me, but that I should now keep my mouth shut since I would somehow dishonor her by continuing.   

My sisters are much like me in many ways.  I have three sisters and each one is incredibly outgoing.   Our entire family has always been extremely vocal.  For those around us there is usually no doubt where we stand. If we are happy we laugh.  If one crosses any of us, we are not likely to hold our tongues.  Each of us holds at least one college degree.  We hold strongly to our opinions and tend to act strongly in behalf of our convictions.  My wife on the other hand raised her two children in an atmosphere of Whisperdom.  The kids often spoke in whispers.  Oftentimes you could not understand what they were saying.  And if my wife became angry she’d employ what I’d often describe as “The Bitch-out.”   I swear that her face would pale for a few moments.  She’d suddenly become very quiet and start speaking in hushed tones.   If she wanted something and I didn’t give in she’d give me the treatment for eight or even twenty-four hours, becoming very quiet for extended periods and speaking  quietly with a sinister menacing tone in her voice that she must have learned from the Sicilian Mafia even though she claimed to be Danish.  Had any one of my sisters been in her place, all hell would have broken loose. My sisters and I would have had it out then and there, and that would have been that.  We’d reach some form of understanding, then make up. 

The classic example of my wife’s trying to exert control over me occurred at Blockbusters while we were traveling in Arizona where two of my sisters lived.   Several years earlier I had seen the movie, Macbeth.  This was the Playboy movie directed by Roman Polanski.  The movie had never become popular and it never stayed in the movie houses for long.  I think that was because it was too artistic and too well done for American tastes.  I had never run across the movie since.   And suddenly here it was at Blockbusters and we could rent it and take it over to  my sister’s.  I was elated, and showed it by exclaiming excitedly:  “Alright!”  Alarmed, my wife grabbed me by the hand while uttering “Shhhhhuuuuuu”.  Clearly I had been uncool in her eyes by showing I was excited by finding the movie I had been trying to find for years.  So she felt compelled to strop my child like behavior that endangered what she felt should be her Holy Grail, a tomb like atmosphere, perfect for the likes of Blockbusters.   But my sisters didn’t feel the same way, and would have been just as vocal upon finding a long searched for movie had they been in my place. 

But my wife was always right after all.  Never mind the fact that I was paying all the bills and was footing her tuition through undergraduate school.  Or that she constantly came to me for help writing her term papers.  For hers was the divine right to rule the roost.

Which is what is wrong with most American women so I decided to divorce my wife.  Her crime was not making me feel like a man and more like her third child who she could discipline whenever she chose.  It took me two and a half years to get divorced and in spite of a prenuptial agreement, it cost me $140,000 for my attorneys fees, my CPA, her CPA, her attorney’s fees, and court costs, and all of this on top of the more than twenty-five thousand a year I had spent on her and her kids during the eight years of marriage I was not divorcing her.

This is one of the most objectionable reasons why one should never seriously date American women.  First, they try to get you to marry them.  During this period, the courtship period, they try their utmost to make you feel they are better than sliced bread, since they are looking out for you while deferring to your wishes.  Then, once you’ve married them, they’ve got you.   The mask can now come off.  And if they don’t get their way they know they are going to make out just fine in the divorce courts.

While getting divorced I started hanging out with strippers and writing my novel, “Death on the Wild Side”.  I knew I was the cow getting milked by the lawyers.  I knew every move they were going to make before they could make it, but there was nothing I  could do about it since my wife’s attorney, my attorney and the judge all belonged to the same parasitic fraternity devoted to sucking dry any victim presenting itself. 

Which now reminds me of what General Patton had to say about American women once he started to experience Thai women:

“American women don’t know how to treat a man and even if they did, they don’t care.”

Never mind the fact that the guy wasn’t the real George Patton and that he was 83 by the time that I met him.   I named him General Patton for after all, he was just as unstoppable as General Patton was while stopping the German Tanks during World War II.  For sleeping with two different women a day in the short time that I got to know him, the man was certainly a force to be reckoned with.  

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