Here’s the promised story of Oliver and Peter and the prostitutes: I hadn’t been outside and around and about Chiang Mai (or anywhere else in Thailand) until the other night when I went to the Night Market while Catherine and Oliver slept. Without Oliver in tow, I found Thailand to be a much “seedier” place at night — lots more people trying to seel me things, get me places, etc.
At I also bumpde up against the edges of the so-called “sex tourism” industry — only insofar as I was gently propositioned from across the street several times — “hey, looking for a good time” sort of thing, much as you would find in downtown Toronto, and certainly not a big problem.
The next afternoon, wee Oliver and I were around and about alone while Catherine visited a craft shop, and who should we run into but a similar gaggle of “good time girls,” during their off-hours, eating at an outdoor cafe. They spied Oliver and googled over him, ran over to talk to him, asked how old he was, and generally couldn’t get enough of him. It was a totally different side of the same group of people; certainly went a long ways to humanizing the sex trade for me.
The fringe benefit of all this is that Oliver can say honestly that he visited with his first prostitutes before he was even 2 years old.