As most students are, I was quite partial to the odd intoxicating beverage during my university and backpacking years. I wouldn’t say I ever hit it hard though, at least not compared to the majority of my acquaintances – you all know who you are! Since those days, however, I’ve opted for quieter, more civilised surroundings – there comes a point when the crowded venues, sticky floors and headaches the following day simple outweigh the tipsy tales.
The same applies here. I have previously mentioned (see ‘culture shock’ post – Friday, 15 April 2011) that the majority of my colleagues plunge straight in to a life of drunken debauchery. For many, their favourite pastime is sitting outside one of the local bars, lounging on deck chairs and drinking poor quality watered-down vodka from containers resembling plastic Nutella jars. If the noise, pollution and general mayhem weren’t enough to endure, try adding to the mix the many street hawkers selling books/DVDs/cigarettes/chewing gum/dried squid/massages/the kitchen sink. This is not my cup of tea (or glass of rosé as the case may be).
At the opposite end of the scale we have the swanky expat bars downtown. Having only visited 4 of these, I am in no rush to return to any of them. Here I must stress the following is based purely on my limited personal experiences (as indeed is this entire blog), many may disagree with me, but hey ho – each to their own.
At the opposite end of the scale we have the swanky expat bars downtown. Having only visited 4 of these, I am in no rush to return to any of them. Here I must stress the following is based purely on my limited personal experiences (as indeed is this entire blog), many may disagree with me, but hey ho – each to their own.
This will probably come as no surprise to anyone who has visited Asia, or who has ‘enjoyed’ a beverage in any bar around the Mathew Street area of Liverpool!
Expat bars full of Western middle-aged, balding, potbellied perverts ogling over beautiful, petite, Asian barmaids who wear little more than white vest tops, hotpants and killer heels. These women flirt with anything in order to sell a pint or two. Some wear tight little skirts and dresses with ‘Budweiser’, ‘Tiger’, ‘San Miguel’ etc emblazoned all over them. And it came as quite a surprise to be immediately surrounded by four of these girls seconds after taking a pew. Needless to say, the usual arm gestures worked a treat to shoo them away in the direction of some pervy expats.
For the next hour, whilst chatting and sipping my strawberry daiquiri I immersed myself in one of my favourite pastimes – people watching. I’ve always been interested in others, some call it being nosey, I just think I’m inquisitive! People watching tells allsorts about total strangers and often lets your mind wander to the possibilities and farfetched conclusions one can often jump to.
So, Budweiser bird is over by the pillar, leaning provocatively and flirting outrageously with a portly Western bloke. San Miguel señorita strokes the arm of mullet man by the bar – he looks like he’s escaped from a Status Quo tribute act. And Tiger, well she just pushes the buttocks of an un-branded waitress, who returns the gesture – cheek to cheek. No wonder every Western wannabe Hugh Hefner has found his way in here!
After watching a few more ageing perverts behaving inappropriately with beer broads, my attention turns to the couple by the bar. She is a young, slender, attractive Asian lady, wearing revealing clothes and a broad smile. He is mid-50’s, obese, balding and sporting a pair of jeans and open necked shirt. My guess is – he hasn’t been able to see his genitals past that paunch since the mid 90’s. And what does she see in him I wonder?!
Vietnamese women are very open about their desire to bag a Western man. Domestic violence is high here and many young girls view the financial stability and loving arms of a Western man as the pot of gold at the end of their rainbow. Three weeks in to his contract, a colleague of mine met a 19 year old Vietnamese girl in a local bar that is well known as a regular ‘teachers’ haunt’. Alone, dressed to the nines and very taken by my colleague, she made no bones about the fact she was looking for a Western boyfriend. My friend, a reasonably good looking 29 year old Brit, would have no problems getting a Western girl here or at home. However, he actually liked her and the two managed to spend a turbulent four months together before something had to give. He had been paying for everything – as is expected from most Vietnamese women I must point out. That aside, the cultural differences and mood swings became too much and he ended it – leaving his lady of leisure high and dry.
But my real question is this – of the percentage of Asian women who are willing to sacrifice true love for financial stability, how many are truly happy with their choice?
A xx
