I first walked into the Buffalo Bar in 1997. It became my local after I moved to Soi BongKoch. The beer was cold, the open-air atmosphere was a welcome change from the go-go bars’ tobacco-reek, and more than a few of the hostesses were desirable. My ex-wife understandably hated the place and didn’t buy my excuse for frequenting the bar.

 ”I only go there because it’s not far from home.”

It was less than two minutes away by motorcycle.

Telling a lie would have sounded better, but the truth was much easier to remember.

I’d go there with my little dog Champoo. She’d sit on the bar and lap at a small bowl of Heiniken. The girls loved my Szhi-Tzu. They didn’t even know my name, but nothing nice lasts forever.

Eddy, the fortyish owner took up with a young Belgium thug. She relinquished the daily running of the bar to Sandy, an old crow from Isaan. The mama-san’s constant cawing grated on the ears and she insulted the best girls like Cinderella’s stepmother realizing her beauty had faded for good. They left in droves.

Only Tuk remained, which was enough for me.

She had plenty of salacious stories from her past and present.

One night I was sitting with Tuk and Champoo. My dog was having her usual. She didn’t like Chang. It was either too strong or bitter. She’s been doing this over three years. Everyone loves her, but this night Sandy tells me to get Champoo off the bar.

“Dog dirty. Dog smell. Dog not come to bar.”

I thought about it a little. I had been coming there for years. Buying drinks for everyone. Never complained when they added a little chisel onto the bar bill.

I wasn’t having anyone speak to Champoo like that.

“Just give me the bill. I’m leaving. You know what. I’m never coming back here as long as you work here.”

“Good.” Sandy didn’t own the place. She only worked there.

“Good for me too. Save money. And I tired of hearing you speak.”

“Good you go too.” Sandy screeched with her eyes wide. She was angry at me and Champoo. “You not special. You same all farang. Come and go. Come and go. One day die.

“And you’re the same as all women. You get old.”

The tone of the conversation descended down a slope slippery with expletives in Thai and American. The bouncers rushed into the bar, ready to throw out an unruly foreigner. Seeing me they stopped in their track. I bought them pizza. Sandy gave them shit.

“Don’t worry boys, I’m leaving.”

“And don’t come back.” Sandy shouted from behind a phlanx of bar girls.

“No problem.”

Outside the bouncers begged me to incite Sandy to a fight.

“You slap her no problem.” Dao the head of security winked at me. She was no one’s friend, but my mother didn’t raise me to hit women and to be honest Champoo was a little dirty, although no more than most of the old farangs haunting the Buffalo or me. At least she never sweats. Not even when she’s drunk.

So there ends a beautiful relationship between me and a bar. Funny, not sad at all. Then again there are 3000 other bars in Pattaya. One of them has to be right for me, but in the end I knew Champoo and I would come back to the Buffalo.

After all it was right down the street and neither Champoo nor I liked driving home drunk.