Macau - Moon River
Anders gets to be a "blog-meister" in his wee cubicle for some Macau tourist place - he BLOGS at WORK, and GETS PAID for it!
Me, OK, when things are quiet in the office, and there's no ships I can
stare blankly at watch as they come in to port and do this huge turn around thing and nearly take out the new pier at Keppel, and I've done my all my email(s), I SOMETIMES peep at the blog a bit, for cerebral diversity, to keep me sharp, just in case I have to watch another ship come in answer some crucial e-question about where on the 8x 12 inch panel the button is that does X or Y. I mean how far can a button fucking run and hide?
So, as he says he USED to do, I tend to "hover the cursor above the minimize screen button should anyone barge in"... unless I have fallen asleep.
I am mentioning this for a very blatant reason - if you go there from my link, I might win a weekend in Macau! (Airfare from Singapore not included, I gather.)
Macau... I still get spasms in my, um, nether regions when I think of the last time I went for a "massage" in Macau... Why? Does the expression "fire and ice" mean anything to you?
I was due to leave Macau at 6pm, after a day-trip from Hong Kong to see a customer, but a typhoon came in unannounced as I waited to get back onto the ferry. Maybe the storm had turned from its initial course to approach Macau and Hong Kong, and as I was with customers I never got the weather warning. At the terminal, as we tried to get on the ferry, it quickly turned into shambles.
The first people who got to the bottom of the escalator out of the waiting room triggered the automatic doors to the pier and were knocked back for the blast-force of the horizontal rain and gale that came in without warning. They fell back under this battering onto the next group of people coming down the escalator, but as still more came down, how could they stop? A blockade was building into a crush until those first few were forced out the door into the severe storm by oncoming pressure from people still churning down the escalator. As I watched it all happen from my vantage point three quarters up the escalator and coming down about to become a part of it myself, the scene reminded me that part of Fantasia with Mickey and the walking mops and buckets, the one that scared me silly as a kid... And I was scared a bit here too: was this going to be another Hillsborough?
It was wet and windy and it was chaos! The crowd at the front who had been forced into the weather had nowhere to hide, and had no choice but to make a run for the ferry. They rushed along the pier trying to find protection from the onslaught, and soon I was one of those forced outside as well, forced to run for it. Rain was lashing in sideways off the sea and the overhead shelters did nothing to protect us from a drenching. My shirt was saturated in a second, as if something was throwing buckets of water at me. The ferry was rocking quite a lot as high wind-chop hit at the catamaran's hull and so was the floating pier itself. This motion caused the ramp which we needed to climb onto to get into to ferry to make dangerously long slides, rattling its steel-castors on the corrugated steel with each rock of the boat or pitch of the pier, threatening ankles, wet toes and slippery feet. It thrashed about like a hose under high pressure. We all had to be manually assisted on board by several not-so burly sailors.
With all aboard who risked getting aboard, the Captain pushed off into the storm. Out into the harbour the wind and waves drove directly into our bow and kept pelting us back. For 45 minutes we got nowhere, we tossed and bobbed on edge of the Pearl River Delta and what I could make out of the skyline of Macau did not change for that entire time. We eventually turned back, having wasted enough fuel and time in what I could have said right from go was a futile effort. It took only 3 minutes to get back to port, where they told us that the HK terminal was shut anyway as the typhoon had been upgraded to an 8. Great, T8, all services down in HK, including the airport. I had to spend the night in Macau.
Back through immigration again, I semi-randomly chose a hotel from all the Travel Agents (is there ANYTHING with a room?) in the foyer of the ferry terminal, and took a place at somewhere called the Kingsway Hotel. It had an English name (+++) and the rate sounded reasonable - the best and most expensive hotel in town at that time was the Marriott by the golf course, was full as was The Lisboa, the grotty old casino - so why not? A shower and bed were all I needed. And maybe a massage.
I should have read this Amazon review of "Hong-Kong - The Rough Guide" where the reviewer blasts the author for specifically getting it wrong about The Kingsway:
The author chides prurient men in the streets of Macau whom he labels "creeps." Then he touts the Kingsway Hotel as "one of the newer and most glam of Macau's hotel creations," having a "sauna and health spa"! Had the phony actually BEEN to the hotel instead of just hearing that, he would have learned that the "Kingsway Sauna and Health Spa" is actually a brothel next door to the hotel, where one is presented with a crummy typewritten menu of services in the coarsest possible english, and that the entire second floor of the hotel itself is a sex club.
But I was a [prurient] innocent abroad and knew nothing of this.
At the taxi-stand I watched cars as they drove up through the rain. When they hit a large puddle the spray would at first fly up a few feet, then the wind would grab it and whisk it away horizontally for a hundred yards until it dissipated in the air, never falling back down. It was weird. Kinda cool, but scary. My taxi took me past threateningly swinging signs and seriously bending trees to the hotel entrance, where several large buses were parked. The foyer was packed with mainland tourists who looked like peasants marginally scrubbed-up for a day in the big city: cheap suits, coarse sun-leathered faces, filthy hands, white socks and no deodorant. I had trouble finding a receptionist who spoke English.
WARNING: XXX SECTION - not for the young or the easily offended
Click the graphic or MORE, below, for well, MORE below...
So yeah, I wouldn't mind another holiday in Macau, particularly seeing as how the new casinos are up and running, and the even the Lisboa has had a facelift... not that I gamble.
Meanwhile, let's see if Anders can top that story on his work blog...
When I got to my rather shitty small room, there was a small card propped on the bed-stand. An ad for the restaurants I thought, or a goodwill message from the manager. Nope, it was instead a menu of the sexual services and their variations available at the Kingsway Sauna next door! It was a no-holds-barred place obviously from the photographs in the menu: two girls in leather with a whip, a threesome soapy, "full sex", a girl on a spinning swing-chair (next time!), a girl sitting on a guys lap while he surfs the Internet (WTF?), etc. I only wish I had kept the card to show you...
Naturally, after the stresses of the day and, now I thought about it, the near-death experience on the ferry - hey, I could have been eaten by that ferry ramp, or the ferry itself could have flipped over that fucking storm! as has happened before - I went down to the foyer, ventured outside briefly in the foul weather to get next door to the entrance to the sauna. Taking a big gamble - this was my first time in such an establishment, right? - I asked for the body massage with, as it says on the displayed menu at the door, full sex. Truth in advertising, I like. And what am I, a saint? $990 Macau dollars (USD$115). Not cheap, but for sex in HK and environs, not expensive either.
The 'masseuse' I selected (randomly) had a tiny waist and enormous fake tits. She didn't speak any English but as I found out, her tongue had a plethora of other more useful skills which had been previously wasted on those filthy Chinese ex-peasant tourists. The session started with a soapy, a body wash performed using her body, silicone monster tits mainly, as the sponge. Then a dry off and a talcum-powdered-tit-massage on the bed while a porno movie played on the TV. She rolled me onto my stomach and moved to my feet. Looking back, I saw her placed some ice into a cup... and she poured blue mouthwash into the cup... She put an ice-cube in her mouth, and took a swig of the mouthwash.. and bent down to put my... big-toe in her mouth. She sucked on my toe for a minute, then moved from toe to instep, running her stiff-pointed cold tongue across my skin as she drizzled mouthwash, from instep to ankle and up my calf, from calf to back of knee, and... she took another swig of mouthwash.
Then, where was she? What was she doing with her hands pushing apart my hairy butt-cheeks? I gasped sharply, my eyes immediately filled with water: it was cold and refreshing and yet it was stinging and burning!
Holy Spasming Sphincter of Oddi, Batman - my mind was reeling!
For several seconds I was a jet-fueled arrow rocketing through space! I did several circles around the moon. I watched Mars blast past. I burst out of Jupiter's big red spot. I slipped through Saturn's blue rings. And finally I exploded into Uranus! It was definitely a case of "Hello Pluto!" all right!
When the stars stopped spinning and I came to, she flipped me onto my back and continued on her round the world trip, including a tour up and down a quickly resurgent Eiffel tower! Then some "full sex" to finish off.
Ever since, I cannot think of the song "Moon River" without breaking into a smug smile.
To quote the wonderfully unrestrained author of Fight Club, Chuck Palahnuik, in his vaso-vagal inducing out-gross-this-if-you-can story in his latest, Haunted, called "Guts" [WARNING -- VERY VERY GRAPHIC - but as a medical person I found it rather funny] - "As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked?"
There's a question for you!
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
"She didn't speak any English but as I found out, her tongue had a plethora of other more useful skills..."
Skills of the tongue are a universal language.*grin*
I so have to fucking try that ice+mouthwash thing one day. All I need to do is find someone to try it on.
Feel like the clumsy kid trying out for the school cricket team...
Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!
You sure? Don't start something you can't finish. *grin*
Can't finish or can't even start? where's those blue tabs????
The old furry throat eh? I'm not sure a weekend in Macau is a good idea in your condition.
I knew someone would tie those two posts together... Actually it's more furry cheeks, my buccal membranes... Weird.
Throat cancer? Brain tumour? Parkinsons' disease? (Miss Parkinson, could you come into my office, I'd like a word with you...)
Heart attack? - no just had one of those in the gym 10 minutes ago, totally different sensation - central chest tightness, shortness of breath, crushing pain, nausea, blue fingernails, collapse, death, last rites, reincarnation as a diligent and talented writer if you please...
The only answer - Munchausen's by proxy server!
haha! nice one! i love it. sounds like you had a good trip. that's a hard one to top. let's see what i come up with. putting a link to your blog on my website right now. and will put fingers to keyboard soon to come up with another interesting tale.