It has survived revolutions, waded through the Tom Yum Goong crisis, seen one owner murdered, while another went toe-toe with mobsters looking to shake her down.
But Check Inn 99, the oldest continuously run nightclub in Bangkok, will soon be relegated to the dustbin of history in a city that's far too willing to bury its own character under condominiums.
After nearly six decades, Checkin99, located on the strip between Sois 5 and 7 in the first multi-story building to ever grace Sukhumvit Road, is slated to see its last call on July 2 during a paid-entry, farewell fundraiser. In its place, a trinket market will accommodate the back part of the venue; the front will be converted into a hotel. The search for a new space — to replace the seemingly irreplaceable — continues.
Opened in 1957, Bangkok's original cabaret bar, formerly known as the Copacabana, has traced much of the story arc of Generation Jones. It was a place where soldiers on furlough during the Vietnam War rubbed shoulders with Peace Corps volunteers, diplomats, spooks and countless women, who formed the invisible glue holding the tesserae in place.
One such woman, Mama Noi, made it her home, becoming the quintessence of the Bangkok Mama San" and rising above the anonymity implicit in her station.
Somewhat ironically, Noi once related to the Bangkok Post's Peter Hill how confused travellers stopped by thinking it was a hotel. Perhaps they were all staring into the future.
But in a time before high-rises would eclipse the sun and locomotion was never in the sky, she mingled with the likes of Bob Hope and other Western stalwarts looking to experience Bangkok noire at a slower clip.
In 1983, five years after a previous owner was bludgeoned to death while locking up, the late, great David Bowie's asymmetrical pupils would catch Noi's on a tour dedicated to serious moonlight (and perhaps hazy sunrises.) Noi herself is now late, and for a girl from Issan, the same region that pumps out so many of the bodies used to lubricate every facet of Thailand's service sector, great as well. Few people from her neck of the woods are given a story arc. She exited stage left with an ovation, even if it was only heard in a dark corner of Bangkok this January.
Entertainment has always been the big draw at the club.
Whatever happened between her and travelling entertainers is a story only the ghosts can tell.
But just as Noi has passed, so too, has the so-called "comfort zone" character that once defined Check Inn 99.
Upon being taken over by Chris Catto-Smith and his wife, Jiraporn "Mook" Srihahach in April 2011, the bar girls were quickly shown the door, even if the seediness spilling over from nearby Nana Plaza remained.
Catto-Smith, a former fighter pilot for the Royal Australian Air Force, and Mook, the daughter of a slain cop who became an officer in the Royal Thai Police Force, were seemingly scripted to take over such a place. And, as recounted by Kevin Cummings in "Bangkok Beat", when eight gangsters poured into the bar in a bid to shake the new owners down, Mook stood tall and the kickbacks never came.
In their charge, the venue started hosting a Jazz Sunday, which regularly features musicians whose chops can cut it anywhere in the world, attracting the likes of Gerry Brown and Jafar Idris to jam in the oft legendary sessions.
In the back of the house, a professional team has turned out decades of food.
Screenings of independent films, most recently Patong Girl, have entailed producers, directors, writers and actors coming in for Q&A sessions.
It's "Bangkok Fiction Night Of Noir" has seen novelists such as Dean Barrett and James Newman provide their own lettered takes on a city awash in stories.
Then there is the perennial Music Of The Heart, the house band whose amplitude ranges from pop staples to full productions of Moulin Rouge.
For its rich history and varied offerings, Check Inn 99 has been recognised as one of the top entertainment venues in Thailand by The Big Chilli Expat Entrepreneur Awards, and one of the "Top Twenty Hidden Gems In The World" by Trip Advisor.
But it is not, admittedly, for everyone.
Triangulating camp, kitsch and character, it's a time warp evoking a 1970s basement apartment, a hip 1960s New York lounge bar and a 1950s fallout shelter. Aesthetically, it looks like it could've been dreamt up by Nicolas Winding Refn for his "neon-dunked nightmare" Only God Forgives.
Which is to say, it's the antithesis of what's become de rigger for Big Mango debutantes and jet set gentlemen of leisure.
The wood panelled walls, at times exhaling a mild sigh of a million cigarettes from days gone by; the stained glass ceiling lamps hanging over the bar; stairs leading up the mezzanine wrapped in red, blinking fairy lights; day glow impressionist paintings illuminating Bangkok's reimagined darkness; streamers with hearts hanging over the stage; artificial sakukras in bloom; bamboo chairs, cascading lights and two-tone checkered floors -- it is, to put it lightly, eclectic.
An access door behind the stage takes you up to 35 shuttered rooms where dozens of doxies once plied their trade. Down below, original rooms, walls and a now filled-in cellar from the Nailert Bangkok Ice work -- dating back to 1897 -- reach further back in time.
Up, down, and in between, tales of spirits abound.
As Catto-Smith recently said, rather than be forced to shutter on the eve of its Diamond Anniversary, Check Inn 99 should be protected under a heritage listing.
But the venue's history, perhaps, in one that many locals have little interest in preserving.
For Catto-Smith and others, there is always a challenge in claiming historical rights in another man's land. No matter how long one stays, foreigners in Bangkok will always be, to some degree, seen as renters.
It's in the very nature of what brought them here, be it war, a volunteer's desire to save the world, a hedonist's desire to forget it, a backpackers compulsion to see everything or a businessman's chance to make a buck, that makes their presence mercurial by nature.
Their essence is far more embedded in an idea than a neighbourhood. How that essence interplays with Thai society, and the venues which serve as the points of contact, are rarely of interest to the country's upper crust.
But the nexus of Thai and foreigner is ultimately a fascinating one when viewed from all of its angles, albeit some far less flattering than others. Check Inn 99 has been a prism through which life, in all its veritable colours, has been dispersed back into the ether.
For every passer-by who was seduced by the music spilling onto the street before stepping in, for sentimentalists looking to relive a city they once loved or an idea they have only dreamed; for the Western stars waiting on the rising sun and for the trip-advised on treasure hunts, Check Inn 99, has shone many a hue on the most motley crew of customers over the years.
And now, one of the few beacons of a bygone era will soon turn off the lights. The city will move on, as all cities do. But like every other place that has seen its history cannibalised in the name of short-term gain, it will never be the same.
