Whoever said that life is a beach...

¶♫♫♪There is a house in New Orleans..They call the Rising Sun...And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy...And God I know I'm one....  ¶♫♫♪
(House of the rising sun, The Animals,1964)

It is called the Beach but no sea around... They say it is this is the holy month but it is business as always. Another day another crowd whose thirst need to be quenched. Thirst of being on holiday and letting their hair down and needing to have a memorable time of their life. Exciting memories eased with the aura of being a millionaire in a third world country where goods and services are dirt cheap and are your disposal at a whistle or a snap of the finger. Thirst of desire to savour all pleasures before the final call, octogenarians flock here.

Like a scene from the opening scene of 'Manchurian Candidate (1962)' or 'Good Morning Vietnam', the club was a shangri-la with flowing golden intoxicating juices, music to soothe the ears and to reenact the lost years with retro music and a smorgasbord of pretty maids (who are everything but maiden) all in a row to dance to your tunes and fancies as long as they are handsomely greased with moolah. In fact there were more pretty maids that the patrons themselves. It was like a display of participants of the Third World Olympics where the poor were sufficiently represented - Philippines, Indonesia, Cambodia, Vietnam, Myanmar, and the crumbs of the now defunct Soviet Union! The providers all had a sad story to tell to justify their sadly demanding profession - money thirsty shark agents breathing down their neck for daily payments, the sob story of family in some kind of calamity, useless lazy husbands who fathered their children at a young and impressionable age, the relatives near and far who are always in some kind of financial difficulty and coincidentally the head of the family feels compelled that she should help and the list goes on and on. Devoutly religious back home, they justify their actions by proclaiming that they were drawn into the profession by sheer desperation and they purify their actions by carrying a rosary at all times.
The bosses of the premises are putting up a happy face. (Hey, people come here to have a good time. they do not want to hear my sob story). Boy, they must have a few especially when everyone in the club missed a heart beat when a patrol car with a its revolving blue light passed by. It must have been a subtle reminder by the men in blue that the regular dues are due! - further adding their blues...
Then the bartenders in midst of making thier clients happy must have their own tale to tell, just like in Billy Joel's hit 'Piano man'. Trying to stay sober and sane in midst of all the intoxicated incoherent regulars, there is another place he rather be but then it pays the bills in this trying times.
In midst of all these negativities, the joint helps to line the pockets of the little men. Scores of cabs are patiently awaiting potential picks who are probably too tipsy to drive or yearn for for a more private environment for private activities. And the row of stalls nearby are ever ready to cook up a sizzling meal to feed those ethanol induced hunger panks.

The club has put the capital on the world map and Discovery channel - a fine example of congregation of citizens of the world, the third world playing dance monkey to the affluent first world due to lack of financial prowess and lack of distribution of national resources.