Due to my unhealthy addiction to Youtube, during the planning stage of my trip I discovered a number of channels by expats living in Pattaya, a city that I had only ever heard of in reference to the sex trade. In contrast to stereotypes, these often charismatic men were unabashed and proud of the place they had made their homes.
I made up my mind, I would go to Pattaya, let it wash over me, maybe sample some delights as my somewhat untrustworthy ethics would allow, then leave before I learned to love or hate the place.
By the time I got off the bus in Pattaya, three things made this plan unmanageable. First, I was in a meaningful, exclusive relationship, not the bored and horny single man I was when I was still at home. Second, the Aussie dollar was taking a massive battering against all other currencies, in addition to inflation, which meant I was on a stricter budget than I was used to, and a night’s drinking at inflated Go-Go bar prices was not an option unless I was willing to sleep under bridges until next pay-day. Thirdly, in Kanchanaburi I had gained some kind of horrible flu, and all I wanted to do was sleep with my back against a wall. None of this boded well for any kind of Gonzo journalism, but with bloody-mindedness typical of me, I went anyway.
I booked a three night stay in a hotel just back from the beach road in Jomtien, a satellite city of Pattaya. Of course my room was in a low-rent wing of an otherwise fancy hotel, that seemed to be exclusively inhabited by local workers. I didn’t mind that, but I did mind the slices of tomato that stayed in the hallway for two days, and the shared bathroom that looked like it had been transplanted from a maximum security prison. For the first two nights I only left the hotel for food, medication and runs to the nearest Seven-Eleven.
My first impressions of Jomtien from my short trips was of incredible normalness. For every single guy I saw, there were three or four couples, some with kids in tow. Surely they all cannot be here out of morbid curiosity? The beach was long, straight, and made up of yellow-grey course sand, not at all inviting to me even if I was not feeling like a brisk walk would kill me.
There seemed to be a lot of businesses run by Russians, for Russians, which I soon learned to avoid.
By the last night I started to feel vaguely human, so I took a baht bus from the beach towards Central Pattaya, and then walked up to the Big Buddha Temple.
I continued walking towards the infamous Walking Street. I passed Seven-Elevens, I passed squash courts underneath freeway overpasses, I passed more weed dispensaries that I thought were sustainable. When I started passing an alarming number of Indian restaurants and massage parlours, I figured I was getting close.
By now it was raining, and just on six PM, I suspected it would be a few more hours before things got interesting, but I was already feeling tired and a little unimpressed with myself when I got to Walking Street. Out of instinct to get off the street while I had no real purpose, I found a restaurant and ordered a decent chicken rice dish and two only slightly overpriced beers.
When I paid up and continued walking, things did look a little busier but still hardly pumping. I noticed a Korean tour group being led through the streets, never a good sign when you want any kind of authentic experience. And like most tour groups, they seemed to be going through the motions rather than any kind of meaningful experience or education. At least I didn’t have to follow a bored man waving a flag. I observed a few clubs, but no one trying to drag people in like I was warned about, and the prospect of entering felt like a Rubicon that I was not willing to cross.
Of course, there were a number of weed shops, and a handful of stalls selling butterfly knives, nunchucks and other things only being sold because they were illegal back home. Further down the road there was a number of businesses advertising Russian girls. I know for a long time women from former Soviet Bloc countries having been selling their services, sometimes in conditions that would be described as slavery, in South East Asia for years, but I suspect recent events have made this even more prevalent.
By now, I was feeling tired, bored, and mildly sexually frustrated. I got to the end of Walking Street, got a Pocari Sweat from Seven-Eleven, and then a Grab back to my hotel. It was nine o’clock.
If you liked this post, please check out the rest of the posts from this trip here!
Adrian's Got The Moose 