The city by the sea you don’t expect.
A seaside town about 200 km southwest of Bangkok, with around 70,000 inhabitants, some expats, some tourists, a long and narrow beach, and a sea that is not paradise but not hell either. Inland, there are hills and rural landscapes very similar to those of Tuscany, with the necessary differences of course, but this gives a general idea of what surrounds the town.
Being in Thailand again for three weeks based in Bangkok, I decided to reach Hua Hin by train, partly because I had never taken a train in the Land of Smiles and wanted to try the experience, and partly because it is cheap by train. You can book online through 12GO.ASIA, with prices starting from €3 and various options depending on the type of carriage you choose. Not knowing the actual differences, I booked casually and ended up in a “sleeper carriage with fans,” spending €6. Looking more closely, there was the €10 option “seats only with air conditioning,” which would have been smarter since it gets really hot on those trains when crowded. Anyway, I took the train at Bang Sue Central Station, a huge recently built station that was used as a large vaccination center during Covid-19. The station is near the Chatuchak Weekend Market and is easily reachable via the metro near Asok BTS station, or if you want to complicate your life and do as the writer did, you can get off at Mo Chit BTS station (next to Chatuchak Park and the market) and walk about half an hour to the station. It may sound like a punishment, but if you enjoy seeing things from a different perspective, it’s interesting to walk around the market from the outside and follow the huge sidewalks along the busy road. Halfway, you can stop after the overpass in the area behind the market where there are some shops and bars, just to see what people do outside the “Nana playground” and surrounding areas.
After a long walk, I arrive near the station. Outside, there are very few people even though the station is huge, it feels like an airport. Once inside, the immensity of the structure is noticeable, with various food points and several vending machines for drinks and snacks scattered around. There are waiting areas and multiple gates, just like an airport, for boarding. Exiting on the other side of the building, there is a seating area if you don’t want to freeze inside while waiting (Thais have no sense of moderation when it comes to air conditioning), and there are several smoking areas, some marked and others recognizable by the “ashtray pots.”
After about half an hour of waiting, the boarding procedure begins—in my case at Gate E. Everyone lines up, and tickets are checked before going up the escalator to the platforms (just like in Italy, right?). Just to be sure, I showed my ticket to the attendant, who pointed me to the correct carriage. The carriages are quite narrow, and a sort of ramp is placed between the platform and the train doors to board, similar to a boat ramp but smaller. Inside the assigned carriage, everything is a bit worn and shabby; even the windows are partly broken and mostly left open during the journey. What intrigued me most were the rotating ceiling fans, positioned in pairs every two meters; with all that wind, it feels like riding a scooter even when the train is stopped. Luckily, because it gets really unbearably hot in those little carriages. I take my seat on the single padded bench-type seat (which later transforms into a bed for long-distance night trips). Fortunately, in front of me sits a small and very composed Thai man, but even so, I have to be careful where I place my feet or I risk kicking him every time I move. The width of the seat is ample, but in depth it barely fits two people of my size. Finally, the train departs. The journey is not particularly pleasant and makes me reassess the quality of Italian trains, which may not be like those in Japan but are undoubtedly light-years ahead of Thai trains (and I always imagine how public transport in Italy would be if every passenger were required to pay a ticket like here in Thailand). Overall, apart from the heat and humidity, it is tolerable.
I try to enjoy the scenery outside: once out of the city, I begin to see nature, fields, plantations, palm trees, buffaloes, farmers, and so on. At the various stations, the train stops and vendors of all kinds of food and drinks get on and off with their baskets, buckets, and sacks full of chilled beverages. It’s all very folkloric, and I laugh at the mix between the ultramodern station and the dilapidated trains, with the village street vendors doing their business while loudly announcing themselves like in a market, but “Hey we are in Thailand.” the same country where prostitution is banned but there are more whores than anywhere else in the world, so it fits.
Among buffaloes and countryside, after even encountering a downpour that lasted about half an hour, I arrive in Hua Hin around seven in the evening after a three-and-a-half-hour journey. It’s already dark, and Hua Hin station doesn’t even really look like a train station; the structure is very unusual. On top of that, there are lasers and light shows everywhere, both inside and outside. There’s even a sort of little market just outside on the street. I’m not sure if it’s always like this, but it’s something you don’t expect and is pleasant to see. It creates an atmosphere, even though it “smells” a lot like an amusement park.
The station is right in front of Soi 80, one of the streets where the town’s nightlife is concentrated, and the hotel I booked, Anchan Hotel & SPA, is less than a kilometer from the station, so I walk there to start seeing the city. In less than 15 minutes I arrive at my destination and have already crossed Soi 80, a street full of bars, a bit like Soi 6 in Pattaya but with an even lower quality of sex workers, and the nightlife area of Soi Bintabaht where I will be staying for the next four nights. At the hotel, check-in is one of the fastest I’ve ever experienced: five minutes and I’m in my suite on the other side of the street (for details, you can read here the review of Anchan Hotel).
After a shower and a short nap, I take a walk around the neighborhood. There are pool bars and small massage places everywhere without interruption, and even before reaching the main street, at the third “massage massage” I hear, I stop at one that catches my eye. 900 Baht for an hour of oil massage with an “oral” ending—300 for the massage and 600 to the girl. Affordable and not bad as a service.
I continue my walk and start “getting a feel” for the neighborhood between Soi Bintabaht and HUA HIN 57, the street connecting the pier area and the night market. The other two streets with a bit of nightlife are Selakam Rd and Poon Suk Rd, where I’m staying. Here, the bars close their shutters at midnight, which leaves me a bit surprised and aimless coming from Bangkok where the city never sleeps, but I accept it and retreat to my accommodation in search of rest.
At 5 a.m. I wake up to a ringing bell. I go out to the terrace and learn that in the area near the temple, activities start very early. I give up the idea of going back to sleep and watch the local residents carry out their morning routines. In front, there is a small park where people exercise in the morning, and where the school kids from the nearby school hang out in the afternoon. Once the temple activities finish, some quiet returns, and I go back to bed.
When I wake up around lunchtime, the sky is a bit cloudy, so I take the opportunity to walk down to the beach. With low tide and no sun, I stroll between the rocky shore and the sand. The water is warm, and although it’s not the most beautiful sea in Thailand, it’s pleasant to walk with the wind on my face and my feet in the water. I take a couple of photos, notice the backsides of a few tourists in bikinis who came down to the beach from the Hilton, and there’s a Thai girl alone by the water doing little TikTok-style dances among the rocks. I’m not bored, I sit nearby and relax, then I have to fill my stomach.
I head back toward Selakam Road, where there’s a small restaurant called Oraya’s, run by a mother and daughter who I assume live upstairs. Everything is very homemade. I eat fried rice with beef and wash it down with a small beer. The food is very good, and with 200 Baht including tip, I ate well and filled my stomach because the portion was generous.
In the afternoon, I take a dip in the pool. To get there, I have to cross the street and enter the hotel’s main building. As soon as I step outside, my eye falls on a girl chatting with two others while walking. I couldn’t say her exact age, but she’s young and cute, appealing to me, though she doesn’t seem like a bar girl. I follow her with my eyes for a moment, then enter the building and reach the garden where the pool is. Besides me, there’s only a young American couple; she’s a beautiful ebony-skinned girl with a figure that looks great in a swimsuit. Seeing her makes me feel a certain urge, and before dinner, I go in search of a massage with an included blowjob.
This time, among the myriad of women in their 40s and younger girls with questionable aesthetics, I find one that appeals to me along the main street. There are no bars there, but a massage place every 10 meters. I won’t name them because I don’t remember and it really depends on luck and personal taste—just walk around and you’ll always find something good in the mix. She’s a decent thirty-something with fairly nice breasts by Thai standards. The massage relaxes me, but then she quickly excites me when she starts to tease my more sensitive area (not the heart, but a bit lower). I request the same service and offer the same tip as the day before, and she gladly accepts.
Keep in mind that in these massages, the extra service is between you and the girl, so officially at the register you pay 300 Baht for the massage, while the tip for the extra goes directly to the worker at the end. I leave satisfied and very relaxed, stop by the Seven Eleven to stock up on drinks for the fridge, and then go to dinner 100 meters from the hotel at a restaurant called Siam Food Club, wich, by the way, I can see directly from the terrace of my suite. The place is a bit more expensive, but it’s very nice and the food is good. As soon as you sit down, they place a fan near the table so that it moves the air without bothering you (unlike most places with fixed fans that blow directly in your face), a nice touch. I order roasted duck with chili, and just to be safe, I also get French fries, which I wash down with a San Miguel beer.
After finishing my meal, I head over to Soi Bintabaht. The local crowd isn’t really to my taste—most of the women in the bars are in their 40s or older. There are some younger ones, of course, but nothing catches my eye, so I keep walking. The nightlife here is fairly quiet, mostly limited to a handful of streets. I notice a couple of bars with interesting girls, but there are already more customers than I’d like, some of them probably regulars, so I don’t take the risk and look for somewhere calmer. Many bars are practically empty, and you can tell why just by looking at who’s inside—basically nothing attractive, at least for a man under fifty.
Just as I’m about to head back to my hotel, I notice a cute young girl outside the second-to-last bar. She’s the same one I spotted earlier while heading to the pool. She didn’t seem like a “bar girl” back then, but now it’s clear she was on her way to work. I greet her and let myself be drawn in. The bar itself is relatively small, with mirrors on the walls, clearly in operation for about twenty years. The billiard table in the center is decidedly vintage, with net pockets and a visible ball collection system—I hadn’t seen one like it since I was a kid watching adults play at the village bar. The counter at the back is vintage, as are some of the stools and general furnishings; even the girls are partly vintage—about half, anyway.
I order a beer and take a closer look at why I’m here. The girl is very sporty in style, wearing a short, simple dress that highlights her figure. She has a nice little butt, a flat stomach, and firm, plump thighs, just like a twenty-year-old should. The only flaw is her chest—small, barely there, very “loli” style, which on the right girl drives me crazy—and this is one of those cases. Alongside her are two colleagues in their thirties, not unattractive but too curvy for my taste. Then there’s one behind the bar who’s probably over 50, another about my age but looks older, holding the whole quirky “team” together, and a fourth around 40, a beautiful woman who is practically in a steady arrangement with an older semi-resident—the only other customer in the bar at the moment.
I hang out and relax. Unlike Bangkok or Pattaya, no one is pushing for “one more drink” or trying to get you to buy them one. After about an hour, I voluntarily offer a drink to the older lady and the young girl—the first as a source of information and the second as a cute little companion, both entertaining me since I arrived. Billiards is free, and since I’m the only customer, after watching how the girl plays, I challenge her. If I win, I get to touch her chest under her dress; if she wins, I buy another round for the other two colleagues as well as a second drink for her and the older lady, just to stir things up a bit.
Twenty years ago, I was good at five-pin and Goriziana billiards, playing almost every evening with people who competed in tournaments. Now I remember the theory but can hardly hold a cue. Plus, in these bars the tables are crooked and the cloth has more slopes than a golf green, which is why I almost never play billiards in Thai bars anymore. Putting nostalgic digressions aside, the match is balanced. Still keeping it calm, I manage a couple of three-cushion shots I didn’t even expect to pull off, which makes them point out that earlier I’d joked about not knowing how to play. Then the girl, who plays like a dockworker from the worst Caracas bars, seems to make a comeback with a series of straight shots into the pockets, but it’s not enough. On her first mistake, I punish it and leave the 8-ball. And… I botch the shot badly—the 8 goes into the wrong pocket and I lose. I back off and we do this round of drinks, then I hang out with the little girl and discover she’s actually quite funny. The older lady subtly recommends her, but tonight I’m not planning to take anyone to my room; I have other plans for tomorrow, plus I wouldn’t get any sleep.
However, the girl senses a potentially good customer and asks to exchange Line contacts. I say no. She looks disappointed and makes a funny face. Then I add, “My hotel is right there, see you tomorrow” pointing about twenty meters ahead. At that, even the others start laughing and she playfully tells me off. It’s midnight, she grabs the little slips and brings me the bill. “You spent a lot!” she says. It didn’t seem like it, but I check the total suspiciously: 990 Baht—3 beers for me, 2 drinks for her, and 3 for the three bar colleagues. Well, if that counts as “a lot,” then they should never see how much I usually spend in Bangkok.
I say goodbye, head back to the hotel, and settle on the terrace with my trusty laptop. While I’m there smoking and doing my stuff, I see Count Dracula passing by—it’s definitely too big to be a normal bat. I soon realize it’s a flying fox (a fruit bat). I feel a bit like Batman in the Batcave, and while the creature swoops back and forth from the tree next door, I finish what I had to do. A couple of hours later, I go to bed with plenty of good intentions for the next day.
The next day I wake up mid-morning and take a walk toward the beach. At this hour, the alleys and small streets that are filled with pool bars and music in the evening are quiet. I notice small groups of older European gentlemen in front of the “regular” bars and restaurants, families, couples—there’s a little bit of everything. It feels somewhat like being in an Italian seaside town in August.
I reach the street that, passing through the small market in the middle of Centara Village, leads straight to the beach. From my hotel to the sea it’s about 700 meters—not exactly close, but an easy ten-minute walk. I then discover a small Chinese temple facing the beach near the piers, with a staircase that goes directly down to the sand. Passing through there cuts the distance in half, which is quite convenient.
On the way back, I stop at a Seven Eleven. They’re not as ubiquitous as in Bangkok, but there are a couple conveniently located along the night market route, just five minutes from my hotel. I stock up on drinks and snacks, return to the hotel, and after a little rest in the cool, I head out for what is supposedly the main mission of the day: checking out Hua Hin’s only Soapy Massage, WoW Leelawadee, located in Hua Hin 64/1 Alley. It’s a side street off the big four-lane main road, about a kilometer north of the Soi Bintabaht area. Careful crossing the street, as Thai drivers can be reckless as usual.
I arrive after about fifteen minutes, a little sweaty but curious. I take a few photos outside and then go in. The place isn’t bad, but I thought I was at a Soapy Massage and instead find myself in a sort of Bar/Karaoke. Something feels off. I ask for clarification and am told that I can drink and buy drinks for the girls, and they also offer massages. Hm… something smells fishy here.
Normally, I don’t mind spending a bit to try new places or situations, but here there are four girls, none particularly young or attractive to me. Out of curiosity, I ask about the cost for an all-inclusive massage. They tell me 3,000 Baht for “normal” girls and 4,000 for “models.” I hope the ones present weren’t the models—otherwise, things look worse than they already do.
A bit disappointed, I thank them, say goodbye, and head back. I had hoped to discover a hidden gem, but instead I found nothing special. Perhaps it was just the timing, but given the place and the absent clientele, I didn’t even try going back another day. Maybe if I return to Hua Hin in the future, I’ll give it another shot, because if there were at least decent girls, it could be interesting to socialize and then choose one for a massage—but there really wasn’t anyone worth trying. A real shame. On my way back, I deliberately wander through the side alleys behind the main road, where basically there are no tourists—except for a fool like the Author passing through. I observe ordinary life: people shopping at a small supermarket, passing by a butcher crowded with customers and a huge display of meat, a blacksmith at work in his shop, a craftsman working with wood in another workshop, and, of course, laundries—they never seem to be missing.
At one point, in a long narrow alley with nothing but houses and what looks like another laundry, a door of an apparently abandoned commercial space opens, and a young woman pops out, staring at me and saying, “Massage?” I can’t help but laugh—it looks like a comic scene in this context. She’s not even unattractive, but in the middle of nowhere, I’m not trusting a girl who suddenly appears offering massages, so I keep walking. She doesn’t insist, unlike some girls near Selakam Road who would follow you the entire street trying to convince you—but she’s out of my target anyway.
When I return to the tourist area, I stop, attracted by a decent-looking girl at another small massage shop in the neighborhood between the beach and Soi Bintabaht. Here I get an oral happy ending in a small room separated by a curtain, for 500 Baht plus the usual 300 for the Oil Massage. She does her job and I relax—but honestly, I prefer spending 1,300 Baht at my beloved 7Heaven, just to give you an idea.
My third evening in Hua Hin starts around eight when I wake up and head out to eat again at Siam Food Club. Naturally, I stop by the Paradise Bar where the girl who caught my eye works. Her name is Pam—or Pem—but to be safe, I just call her Pè. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter when they speak; I catch that she responds to that syllable, so it works perfectly.
Same routine as before, but now with a couple more customers: two drinks, two games of billiards, a few words with her, and a chat with the “old lady,” who is quite a character herself. Then at midnight: “Do you want me to come sleep with you?” – “Yes, but you won’t get much sleep.” And we retreat to the hotel next door. Honestly, having a Bar Girl at zero distance was something I’d missed—the closest before this was seven years ago when I stayed near the old cluster of bars on Soi 22. I have to say, this setup is very convenient.
At 4 a.m., I go to the fridge, drink half a bottle of honey tea, and leave the other half for her on the bed. Then I take a shower and step out onto the balcony to smoke while Pè sprawls on the bed and falls asleep. What can I say—I enjoyed myself like a hedgehog reveling like a pig. I can’t even describe the sense of fulfillment after spending over three hours with a twenty-year-old girl in a bed, taking it slow but relentless. Some people count “shots,” I prefer to count the times I got close while holding back, making her climax like a snail.
No need to say it (otherwise I wouldn’t have kept her in the room for principle^^), but she passes the Sacred Sheep™ Test with flying colors. I stay another ten minutes enjoying the pleasant night air while watching Count Dracula fly by, then go back inside. In the dim light of the room, she’s there, completely naked, sprawled on the bed asleep. I lie down beside her, trying not to wake her—she earned her rest. She’s cute, not stunning, not a model, just cute and vaguely sweet in a way that makes you want to devour her, if that makes sense. After a while, she gropes around the bed, finds me, and clings like I’m a plush toy. For a moment it seems like she’s smiling, then with a satisfied mumble she goes back into hibernation. And then some people wonder why guys fall for Thai girls… well, now you know.
I open my eyes late in the morning, feeling exhausted, happy, and satisfied, but completely drained—after all, I’m no longer in my twenties, unlike her, still blissfully asleep next to me. But it’s getting late, so I tease her a little, caressing that soft little butt lit by the rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. I move closer, kissing and caressing her until she opens her eyes; I show her the time on my phone, and still sleepy she murmurs, “Mmmh, I want to sleeeeep,” hugging me.
I move to plan B, sliding my face between her thighs; I finally wake her up completely, and my little soldier down there wakes up too, so we end up doing it again. This time I don’t hold back at the first opportunity, and it’s just as good. While she’s in the shower, I leave three folded 1,000 Baht bills under the phone: we had never discussed money, she was good, and since we’re not in Bangkok, it seems like a fair compensation.
Around noon, she leaves, thanking me and saying she’ll see me at the bar in the evening. I close the door; the room is a mess, but housekeeping comes after three. After a short nap of a couple of hours, I decide to go to Oraya’s for lunch: this time Pad Thai and spring rolls. Everything is very good, the lady cooks in front of you and is really skilled; the dishes are simple but well made, and her daughter works as a waitress, kind and efficient. If you stop by and want to eat well without spending much, I highly recommend it.
At the table nearby, there’s a young Italian couple. They ordered a meat dish, presumably a little spicy, a bowl of green curry, and the usual rice. She, however, barely touches anything but the rice, and I notice the cook looking at her strangely: she’s probably thinking, “This girl is really dumb.” The scene makes me laugh, but at the same time I feel a bit embarrassed for some of my fellow countrymen, considering the narrow-mindedness some people show toward food… and not just food.
With my belly full, I take a walk toward the piers, passing by the Hilton, whose imposing presence compared to the surrounding landscape makes it a sort of local landmark. I wander around the neighborhood for a bit, then head back to rest in my room, already cleaned and tidy. I open my eyes again when it’s already dark outside. I want to go straight to the bar, and as soon as I step onto the street, my “Bar Girl at zero kilometers” intercepts me and calls me over. I greet everyone, and the older woman nearby tells me that the girl has been waiting for me—blah, blah, blah. I know these working girls like the back of my hand by now, but I play along, enjoying the company of this fresh pseudo-girlfriend for three days. Considering where I am, I can safely say I’ve done quite well.
After midnight, the routine repeats, but more slowly and in small doses, because another three-hour marathon without a break like yesterday would be too much. We joke, play, and have sex—very chill.
Around mid-morning, she receives a video call from the two bar colleagues who are on the beach, asking her to join them. She lets me say hi to them while we’re still naked like Egyptian cats on the bed, but it’s probably routine for them with customers. She then invites me to go with her, and having nothing better to do, I accept. I find it pleasant to spend some time with a young, friendly girl who is less than half my age and with whom I’ve had amazing sex for a couple of nights—it makes things feel more “normal,” so to speak.
I realize I haven’t left her the tip yet. She hasn’t said anything; she seems to trust me, so that’s fine. We eat some Thai food that they brought from somewhere near the beach. After a while, I leave them to their things and head back to the cool hotel, passing by the Chinese temple and then along the street by the piers, which is still fairly busy since there are many restaurants and activities, mostly catering to tourists, of course.
That evening, I skip dinner since I’m still full from the afternoon. I slip into Soi Bintabaht and linger for a beer at a small bar with a couple of decent girls, but none of them spark any interest—maybe because I’m too comfortable with my “Zero Distance Bar Girl” or perhaps thanks to her I’m not feeling that hungry for sex at the moment. I say goodbye to the girls and head back to the “bar under my hotel.”
Inside, there are only the over-forties and the usual customer with his pseudo-girlfriend, playing billiards. The friendly older woman tells me that Pè and the others are resting because they were on the beach today. “I know, I know…” I reply, smiling. She says she’ll call her because it’s no good to have no girls at the bar, but it’s obvious she’s only calling because I’ve arrived (I wouldn’t have gone looking for her myself—I like to let karma do its thing in these cases).
After a while, Pè arrives on a motorbike, dressed in a sporty black top and shorts, and I immediately feel like pinning her against the pool table and having her right there and then. We fool around a bit with a couple of beers, and I’m not in the mood to wait until midnight. I add the ridiculous 300 Baht bar fine to the modest tab, and we head to the Hotel until the next morning, again.
By the way, this is the first time in Thailand that I’ve taken the same girl to my room for more than two nights in a row. Maybe it’s because Hua Hin doesn’t offer many options to my taste, or maybe I just got along with her so well that I didn’t want to change—it’s unusual and risky for me, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts. I also discover that if she sleeps on her back, she snores loudly—but a little pinch on her pussy fixes it: she opens her eyes, mumbles, turns over, and stops making noise. Still, she’s way too cute when she does that.
On the morning of the 23rd, we take a shower together. The water slides over her hazelnut-colored skin, and the way she playfully rubs against me while we wash each other gets me hard instantly. When I linger between her thighs and her ass with both hands, she turns, hugs me, and I lift her up and ride her “raw.” I know I shouldn’t, and normally I avoid it, but I don’t give a damn—I want her, and I want her now.
I thank the genius who put non-slip flooring in the shower as I press Pè against the wall and fuck her standing up like there’s no tomorrow. I love it too much, but I don’t want to shoot her like a Sicilian cannolo—you never know—so I set her down, squatting in front of me, and I think that little splash in the eye she just got will be remembered for a while^^. Short but intense—thankfully I’m leaving tomorrow, otherwise I’d fall down the rabbit hole and never come out. For a moment, I even thought about extending my stay in Hua Hin, but then I realized that would be a huge mistake.
Anyway, we compose ourselves, and after a bit of fooling around on the bed, she needs to go do her things—and honestly, so do I. Still, she doesn’t ask for anything, or maybe she forgot, or she trusts me a lot, I don’t know—but to avoid any confusion, as she’s at the door, I put the folded cash tip for the two nights in her hand. She thanks me and leaves, saying she’ll see me again tonight at the bar. Obviously.
On my last full day in Hua Hin, I don’t do anything special. I sit on the terrace with my beloved honey tea, and the morning chant from the temple has become familiar, almost a pleasant background, along with the chirping birds, a squirrel hopping two hundred meters carrying something in its mouth across the inevitable power cables, the chatter of the locals now and then, and that warm breeze that, once you get used to it, isn’t so bad. You get accustomed to Hua Hin quickly; I start to understand why so many Europeans choose to live here. It’s like a Mediterranean summer vacation—but here, summer lasts all year, and the cost of living is ridiculously low (as long as you’re not a daily tourist, of course).
I head to the Seven Eleven to buy some drinks and take the chance to look around for anything I might have missed: massages, laundries, food shops, more massages, barbers, jewelry shops, bars, restaurants… the list goes on. There’s not a huge variety, but if you live here, you die relaxed, clean, and with a full belly.
I stop by the beach; there aren’t many people, but a couple of interesting tourists in bikinis coming down from the Hilton catch my eye. Their little butts give me some ideas, and before heading to Seven Eleven, I stop at the first decent massage place that calls me over. A 30-year-old milf—better at the massage than at oral, but she satisfies the craving, and I leave relaxed, 900 Baht lighter. A solid value, all things considered.
I return blissfully to my suite, neatly tidied by the efficient housekeeping staff, and rest until evening. Later, I head down to the Paradise Bar for dinner and find out that my “bar girl at zero kilometers” thought I was leaving on the 25th—makes me think Thai girls have a serious problem with math. I ask her if she wants to have dinner with me, and then maybe we’ll head back to the hotel since she can’t stay over tomorrow. Naturally, she agrees. I pay the barfine and take her along, not far—just about 200 meters—to the Siam Food Club. A nice spot, good food, fair prices. She eats like a little pig—well, she’s twenty, fucks like a champ, and can definitely handle the calories.
When we get back to the hotel, the old bar lady is leaning over the street, waving, winking, cheering me on—it makes me laugh just seeing her. We greet her and then head up to the room, again. My Zero-Kilometer Bar Girl is just too much fun, and even though I had decided to sleep alone that night, I end up finding her once more in bed, dozing off after showing me some stars. I fall asleep too, but the alarm inevitably rings—it’s already 8:00, and I have to get up and prepare for departure. I wake her, too; she’s sleeping like a rock. There’s no time and I’m not in the mood for anything else, so I invite her to take a shower and get ready, then leave me to do my things. She agrees, of course.
Before leaving, she asks again to exchange contacts since we hadn’t done it yet. This time I say yes, just so I’m not rude. I already know I won’t be back in Hua Hin soon, and she’s dangerous—spending time with her is starting to become a little too enjoyable. It’s better if she remains a pleasant memory of this short seaside adventure. After all, even though I’ve navigated these scenes since before she was born and know all the rules and limits, I’m human too, and I tend to get attached to people who make me feel good. Maybe in another life, who knows…
I say goodbye for the last time and leave the final tip. I watch her leave from the terrace, and a chapter closes. But enough sentimentality—it’s time to go back to making chaos in the capital. I’m already starting to miss the hectic energy of the metropolis, even though I really enjoyed my time in Hua Hin.
For the return to Bangkok, I relied on Hua Hin Cab—excellent service at a fair price: from the Anchan Hotel in Hua Hin to the Hyde Sukhumvit 11 (a somewhat upscale condo in Soi 11, about 400 meters from the BTS Nana station) for 2,000 Baht. In fact, I booked a car at the base rate of 2,000 Baht, but the driver, who was waiting in the hotel lobby twenty minutes before the scheduled time, arrived in an SUV, which normally costs 400 Baht extra. Happy for them, it was perfectly fine with me.
After a quick check-out, I got into the car, and two hours and forty minutes later, I was in Soi 11, fresh as a daisy—I even dozed off a bit during the ride. Checking my phone, Pè had written: “Miss you! See you soon”—a standard message. I expected it sooner or later, and I started typing “I don’t think so…”, but in the end, I just sent a laughing emoji.
Basically, personal feelings aside:
Regarding Hua Hin, I can definitely say it’s worth a visit. It’s not Pattaya, but the beach is pleasant and the sea water is at least decent. It’s not Bangkok, but you can always find something to do for fun. Personally, I got pretty lucky finding that girl I had spotted from the terrace as a Bar Girl near my hotel—maybe if I hadn’t found her, I would have explored the other nightlife areas more thoroughly. In general, Hua Hin isn’t a bad place at all to spend a few days.
I know there’s also a club or something similar right under the Hilton Hotel, I was told, but I didn’t go there—I had better things to do. I did pass by the Panama Bar, and it’s lively, a sort of live music bar located on Selakem Road, one of the streets that, along with Poon Suk Road, Selakam Road, and Soi Bintabaht, form the veteran “nightlife quadrilateral” of Hua Hin. There’s also the nearby Soi 80, which didn’t impress me much when I passed through, and the more recent Wonderland area on Soi 94, which I didn’t have the pleasure or the desire to check out since it was far from where I was staying, and, as you know, I had other things to do.
Regarding getting around, even though I didn’t rent a vehicle myself (something I’ll definitely do next time), if you’re spending a few days in Hua Hin I strongly suggest renting a scooter. There are several places that are difficult, if not impossible, to reach on foot, and unlike Bangkok, you won’t find moto-taxis every few meters, so having your own transport is a good idea. There are several rental shops, and for around 200–300 Baht per day you’re set. Of course, you’ll need an international driver’s license and a healthy dose of caution, as Thai drivers generally drive “like a male canine reproductive organ,” or, in less refined terms, “a cazzo di cane” (an Italian saying that literally means “like a dog’s dick” and is used figuratively to describe something done haphazardly, carelessly, or in a totally reckless manner).
So, I hope you enjoyed this account (a bit too much personal novel, I know, but it was the best part of this seaside trip and I felt like sharing the experience with you fellow travelers, knowing that surely some of you have already found yourselves in similar situations or will sooner or later, so it’s also useful for comparison). Right now I’m writing from the balcony of the apartment I rented at Hyde Sukhumvit 11, which is a nice place to stay, but that’s another story…
Greetings from your very relaxed “Neighborhood Editor”, talk to you at the next update from Bangkok!
