A Toxic Thailand Relationship Financial Exploitation Collapse and Recovery
I’m standing outside the front door of my girlfriend’s condo in Pattaya, mildly intoxicated, thinking, “Well, I’ve done it this time.” I’ve just carved a very rude five-letter word beginning with the letter B on her front door with a sharp knife that I carried in my right hand. It’s quite a good effort considering the alcohol intake, as it can be seen clearly by anyone walking past. The legal owner of this condo, the diabolical woman who has led me to this isn’t me. She’s Russian from a small pocket in Siberia and is easily the most toxic woman I have met in the 35 years I have breathed air on this planet.
She lives right opposite me in a condo she owns but didn’t pay for, but we will get to that. The front door to her condo can be seen when I open my door, so I can see my late-night artwork every time I tiptoe out. This uncharacteristic behavior on display from me didn’t happen overnight. And while I’m by no means a tough, aggressive guy, what I did shows that anyone can be pushed so far. Anyone can lose control briefly and for that split second do something stupid.
I would imagine prisons around the world are full of these people. Back to the night in question, I can remember vividly standing outside her door, staring at the knife that I brought from my kitchen drawer, and half of me is thinking, “I really shouldn’t have done this.” And the other half is wondering how severe the consequences are going to be. Why? Because this Russian lady I’m in a toxic relationship with is far from normal.
The Winter of 2008: Before the Fall
Behind the clock, 6 years, and it’s the winter of 2008 in the UK. It’s soon to be my 30th birthday and I’m rummaging around the charity shop looking for a decent pair of shoes I can wear to my party. I don’t even know why I’m having a party. Financially, things aren’t looking good. A petition for my personal bankruptcy has been served, and that was easily the most stressful day of my life.
I’m staring into the abyss. Being 30 in 2008 means I’ve not experienced significant economic downturns whilst working or in business. I was in high school between 1990 and 1996 and at university between 1996 and 2001, and at these times money wasn’t on my mind and education was front and center. After graduating from university I had a few jobs mainly in offices, but my main interest was residential property. I managed to build a small portfolio of rentals in my local area, but between 2006 and 2008, I lost my way completely and went on a massive ego rip.
I was driving around in a large Mercedes with a pinstripe suit on while my tenants lived on supermarket own-brand food. I used to take expensive holidays, drink the best wines whilst not looking at the bill, and I genuinely believed I was talented at what I did. I would drive around from property to property, meeting to meeting, full of self righteousness. I was once described as smug, which was one of the more polite descriptions. I would iron five shirts on a Sunday night and then go to the local casino where sometimes the locals would ask for my property advice, and I would answer like I was some sort of Bengali, a wise guru who had an edge over others in the industry.
This new success went to my head. I was so arrogant and unpleasant and I didn’t even know it. But growing up with not much money made having a bit of money in my pocket all the sweeter. Looking back today, I know that was wrong. But hindsight is 2020.
The Crash: When the Bubble Burst
The speculative bubble finally burst and the economy came crashing down in roughly the third quarter of 2008. I can remember seeing a queue around the block of worried savers and pensioners attempting to empty their accounts. The first run on a bank since Victorian times, and I really didn’t know what to make of it. At the time I owed the bank a lot of money. I owed several banks a lot of money, and servicing that debt was reliant on people paying me.
I couldn’t borrow anymore and I certainly couldn’t refinance anything. During the uncertainty, stocks and shares plummeted, but I was lucky not to have any. The bankruptcy petition that kept me awake at night for months wasn’t from my property portfolio. It was from a franchising company, as alongside owning properties personally, I bought an estate agency franchise to try and sell the properties of others. And I firmly believe that if I had opened three years earlier, it might have worked.
To have a successful franchise in any sector, you not only need to be good at what you do, but you need others within the organization other franchise holders to be competent and honest. Naively, at the age of 29, I thought that entrepreneurial people who invested in the franchise business whilst wearing pointy shoes and ill-fitting suits were both competent and honest.
The Scandal That Ended It All
I shut my office down during the mayhem, third quarter of 2008, and I’ll explain why. I wasn’t making any money. In fact, I was hemorrhaging money each month. In my city, there were five other franchise holders, and none of them liked each other. I was all very petty, where boasting and one-upmanship was commonplace.
Who had the most sales, the biggest sales, etc. One of the franchise holders not me, obviously was caught selling repossessed homes at a knockdown price to a local businessman who was a bit of a wannabe celebrity. He had skillfully negotiated a deal with a bank to market and sell their repossessed homes, but the deal went greasy. Legally, an estate agent must market a repossessed home for 2 weeks before accepting an offer. This franchise holder would list the repossessed home on the website, but when viewing requests came in, they would make an excuse to avoid a viewing.
As soon as the two weeks were up, it was sold to the aforementioned local businessman in a dodgy deal. Someone a the bank must have been scratching heir head, thinking, “How come every property we give this office sells for the exact amount we are owed and not a penny more?” He was caught, but while it was very unethical, no charges were made. No one knew what law he had broken. He had a license to print money and then ruined it for himself.
When that story made the news, it was front page, and it became impossible for my franchise to even secure a valuation, never mind an actual listing or sale. My office was 1.5 miles along the road from his, and we were finished tainted and tarred with the same brush.
The Legal Nightmare and the Cunning Plan
The phone didn’t ring, and the bills piled up. As there were zero sales and zero prospects, I couldn’t pay the master franchise holder. Their fees alone, never mind office rent and other costs, was roughly £20,000 a year. Originally, I was sued personally for £225,000, what the master franchise claimed the would have earned if I had kept my branch open for the 5-year term I signed up for. It was lunacy.
It was by far the worst time in my life. Mentally, I was in freefall. I had gone from this suave wannabe businessman with ice flowing through his veins to a gibbering wreck, unable to talk without getting angry, and frequently unable to sleep. I would get nervous when I saw the postman walking towards my front door with a pile of brown envelopes. With the help of a very intelligent, good friend, we sat down and formulated a cunning plan.
We headed to the head office of the franchising company. My friend gave a polished pitch and pretended that the assets I had were so highly leveraged that if the bankruptcy position was actioned, there would be no funds left after the mortgages were paid off. We finally agreed on a full and final settlement of £25,000. I paid £10,000 cash on the day and the rest in installments. The bankruptcy petition was quashed and I breathed a sigh of relief.
What also worked in my favor was a call from a private investigator informing me that the master franchise holder didn’t have a consumer credit license. I emailed him his leaked information two days before our meeting. I’m sure it was read and digested.
Reinvention: From White-Collar to Blue-Collar Work
I needed a new way to survive. I needed to reinvent myself and get away from all the wrong people, become more introverted and thoughtful. What I had left was my buy-to-let investments and a wardrobe full of shirts, which considering it was the worst financial crisis in history, wasn’t bad at all. What could I do? I had no interest in shop work, waiting on tables, and I had no trade skills.
I’d always liked driving, and I knew my city like the back of my hand. To become a black cab driver required a topographical knowledge test. I went to night school twice a week, gave up drinking, and hit the maps hard. I passed the test the pass rate was 27% and got my license through the post a few days later. I started the very same night.
I’d swapped pinstripe suits for polo shirts and khakis, and it felt great. From white-collar to blue-collar. Within the firstt two weeks, I made £2,000 and I loved it. Working during the nights was peaceful and the roads were empty. However, after four years of long hours and lots of abuse from drunk customers, mostly women, I was tired and burned out.
Wiping a customer’s stomach acid off the back seat early into a Sunday morning wasn’t ideal, but at least I went home to a house I still owned. Once all the payments were made, I was solvent again. The next chapter was ready to begin.
Moving to Thailand for a Fresh Start
At age 34, single, living alone, I felt life was on constant repeat. It was time for a change somewhere completely different, far away with warm weather, cold beer, and hot women. I decided on Thailand. I had no kids, no partner, a bit of distant family, and a few friends. Nothing to lose really.
I arrived in Bangkok in March 2013, and as soon as I washed my hands in the sink of my hotel room, I knew I’d stepped into another world. The sound of the water coming out of the tap with the expensive soap coupled with the breeze of the open window. It was lovely. I felt fresh and ready for a new chapter. I was warned that Pattaya was a city populated with a lot of told men chasing younger Thai women, but soon decided that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Given the last 5 years of my life, how bad could it be? I bought a place quickly in Jomtien for 2 million baht, which was roughly £40,000 At the time.
Meeting Olga: The Toxic Russian Neighbour
It was only about 3 days after moving into that condo. I was at the communal pool when I saw two Russian ladies drinking a bottle of that cheap wannabe champagne you see in 7 Eleven. One was good looking and in shape, and the other much older. The good looking one happened to be my neighbor right opposite my condo. Aged 41, her name was Olga, and the next 18 months would make the legal problems I had 5 years previous seem like a teddy bear’s picnic.
If I knew what was to come, I would have wrapped my towel around my waist and run a mile. Her English was good, and she was cheeky, sassy, and confident. She’d moved into the condo that was originally bought for her as an investment by her wealthy ex, a 61 year old Brit. That night we all ended up on the beach and then in the sea. The first night we met, she was in my room and it wasn’t for a game of chess.
Again, I should have seen this as a bad sign of a volatile character. We’d only met a few hours ago, but she was gorgeous, and there were no uncomfortable silences. She was walking around my condo naked like we had known each other for years.
The Cracks Begin to Show
I didn’t take long for the cracks to show. One day, we were walking along Beach Road, and a ladyboy smiled at me. I’d never seen her before, no idea who she was, but Olga started screaming in the street like a mad person. “Did you sleep with her?” And all other sorts of unfounded accusations.
I took the res of the day to calm her down. She didn’t even say sorry. These occasional public outbursts became an annoying trend. One night we went out for British food and afterwards I challenged her to a game of pool. Not if you’re a Siberian with two bottles of wine inside you.
She would just hit the closest non-white ball at great speed while laughing loudly. When I told her to stop, she told me clearly at great volume: “Pay the bill and f**k off.” So I did and left her standing here. Only days later, she caused a scene in an Indian restaurant. After drinking heavily all day, she demanded a free shot of Jägermeister from the owner.
The owner had no idea wha she was alking about. She started shouting a him, making a scene in front of other diners. I had to quickly apologize and practically drag her out. Another night ruined. I’m listing these incidents like they are one-offs, but this type of thing happened every few days.
“Why can’t you just be nice?” This simple six-word sentence became a slogan for our time together. She was rarely nice. Olga was rude to everyone she encountered with no discrimination at all foreigners, Thais, waiters, shop staff, security guards. She hated them all with equal measure.
Financial Exploitation and Madness
The start of the larger money requests came when she claimed she had to renew her passport. I found myself paying £1,000 for a flight for her to go home for 2 weeks, plus a whole load of spending money. Did the passport even need renewal? I never saw it. Only two days back in Thailand, and here was more trouble.
This time she’d fallen out with other Russians living in the condo block adjacent to ours. The very next night, she got drunk and was walking around the communal area shouting, “Hey Russians, f**k off.” If I didn’t defend her honor in all these pointless altercations, I was treated in the same fashion screamed at, and even beaten once or twice. I did love her, which sounds mad because she did have some good qualities. She helped me domestically, cooked grea food, and occasionally was funny and loving.
Sexually, she was dynamite as all crazy people usually are. She then told me that she was pregnant. After I had two or three sleepless nights, she told me it was a mistake and she wasn’t pregnant. We also had a second pregnancy that again wasn’t a pregnancy, and a third. All false.
Engagement and Collapse
Six months down the line, in a moment of absolute madness, I went down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She said yes. I had to return to the UK for 2 months to work, as I had overspent and needed money for the ring. What the hell was I doing? Too much sun, too much sangria and coke, a rush of blood to the head.
I think I hoped that I could change her for the better. I’d never been married, never even been engaged. There was also what I described as “poker committed” a poker term when you have invested so much that if you fold, you’ll lose everything. Turns out I should have folded. After just 3 weeks of engagement, the ring was back in its box.
She’d gone mental again. She said she didn’t want to get married, and I said fine. I’d worked every day for a month to buy that ring one carat, £4,000. I just sat in the safe. Over the months, we would break up and get back ogether the very next day, only to break up again.
We really were a laughingstock to anyone who knew us.
The Final Straw and the Carved Door
The final straw that ended the relationship for good came over a two-day buildup. On day one, after I refused to pay 10,000 baht for something I wasn’t guilty of, she said her Russian male friends would come and beat me up. I had the displeasure of meeting some of these men heavy duty, covered in tattoos with skinhead haircuts. They could pulverize me half to death off the back of a pack of lies from Olga. On day two, the final day of the relationship came when I discovered she had money all along.
Her ex, who had paid for her condo, also paid her a golden goodbye. Her constant poverty pleading was all just a big lie. She was happy to spend my money, but not her own. She would often say, “You earn it, I spend it.” I was at that point, whilst drunk, I carved a rude word on her door with a knife after another marathon late-night drinking session.
The game was up. I’d had enough, and I no longer recognized myself. Relationships are supposed to be fun, loving, and enjoyable. This was just grief.
A Living Hell Across the Hall
Olga was still living opposite me, and she had no intention of moving, and neither did I. So what do good-looking single female manipulators do in a place like Pattaya? They get to work. Olga started bringing foreign men of all ages, shapes, and sizes back to her condo engaging in the world’s oldest profession. And I was just here listening to it, feeling disgusted.
One night I heard a commotion. She had brought two guys back this time. One stormed out shouting, “She can’t speak to me like that.” The other stayed the night. I bumped into him the next day a man at least 60, dressed horrendously.
It was a living hell watching your ex-fiancée do things like that while wearing clothes and jewelry that I paid for, in a condo that some other mug had paid for. This was the lowest I felt since the bankruptcy petition in 2009. What exactly was going on in my life? I thought Thailand was a new start, a salvation. But it just made me miserable and sad.
The Last Time I Saw Olga
The last time I ever saw Olga was in November 2016, in the very swimming pool where we met 3 and a half years earlier. She was wearing designer sunglasses I hadn’t seen before and a fancy looking bikini. She scowled at me from her sun lounger on the other side of the pool. I didn’t care. Time had healed me, and I was able to even laugh about it.
My friend from New Zealand came to the pool with a bottle of real champagne. When he looked over and saw a tired old Russian lady with a face like a leather handbag and a saggy body, he couldn’t believe I fell for it all that time. He popped the cork of the champagne in the direction of Olga, and it shot across the pool and nearly hit her. I was able to smile and hold back the laughter. She shouted a four letter expletive at us, got up, and stormed off.
I never saw her again.
The Aftermath: Selling Up and Moving On
Mutual friends ttold me that Olga stayed in her condo until 2017. Her 32 sqm condo was bought for 1.7 million baht off plan in 2012, and she sold it in a fire sale for 1.3 million baht. Her total profit?
1.2 million baht minus fees. The guy who bought it lost far more than we will ever know. But like me, they had hoped for happiness, love, and companionship. I still own the condo I used to live in, and I rent it out to an older, mild mannered gentleman from Finland.
The most adventure he engages in is smoking a cigarette on the balcony. Calm has been restored in the neighborhood. Time heals.
Life Now: A Happy Ending
I am now with a great Thai lady who is age appropriate 8 years younger than me. Not a bar girl, but one who lives off her investments that she gained after her own disastrous relationship fell apart due to infidelity. She did well in the divorce and has assets that would generate a comfortable life for her until the end. I don’t pay a monthly allowance. I just cover day to day living for us both, and it’s not stressful in any way.
She knows that I’ve been typing this story for a few hours now and wants to hear it read out on YouTube. She has to know of my past for us to move forward. Finally, to anyone who has listened to this story, I plead with you: don’t date volatile, angry, aggressive, narcissistic, sociopathic women who happen to be your next door neighbor, especially in Thailand. Pattaya and Jomtien are full of Russians wandering around aimlessly. My story shows what can happen if you start speaking to them.
You might be the next guy sending your story in once all the scars heal and your bank balance recovers.
