Introducing: The Pattaya Man

Like Florida Man, but International

If you want to read more unhinged, satirical takes, you can find them in Wrong Turn. To be clear, I love Thailand dearly. I dare say Jomtien, near Pattaya, is probably one of my favourite places to chill by the sea. This article is purely for chuckles. There’s probably a nugget or two of truth in there somewhere.

Man

Love or hate them, men remain the living, thriving proof of our primate-y past. Watching men go about the world is the equivalent of having preserved scarred shells of bombed buildings left over from war - an ugly reminder of a place we’d not want civilisation to backslide to. 

Over the years, men have achieved laudable domestication that rivals a house cat and occasionally certain breeds of dogs like the Pekingese. And much like these pets, they’ve been bred into many variants: the little and big ones, the vicious and sensitive ones, the smart ones, the dumb but pretty ones, the funny ones, the always angry ones, and so on. 

Then there are the breeds shaped by a place. Much like the street mutts in Thailand or India, these breeds of men are the products of the festering chaos of a city, a state or even a country. And they are truly unique.

It could be the Patagonia Vest sheathed douche-breed we call the Silicon Valley bro or the fast-talking number junkie like the Wallstreet Wolf. You have a Tokyo Salaryman serving corporate neo-feudalism until he drinks himself to death. A Russian Oligarch or an Indian Guru are caricatures that truly live up to and beyond their potential. 

However, no breed holds a candle to the swamp thing from the Everglades - the Florida Man.  

When he’s not humping or fighting an alligator, the Florida Man is shooting at the sun, running naked or just living in the swamps. Thanks to all the sun and the alcohol and a pinch of the intoxicating steam from the swamps, the Florida Man stands so true to his origin story that he makes a Chimpanzee blush. 

But there’s another. 

Nearly 10,000 miles from Florida is another steamy, tropical place where things are just as swampy, and another man-breed successfully breaks through the veneer of civilisation.  

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Pattaya

Pattaya was a quiet fishing village that became a laidback R&R destination and drank itself into becoming a pulsating place of sin with gogo bars, lounges, pubs and more.

For more than a decade, the tourism board of Thailand has been trying desperately to facelift Pattaya into a more family-friendly destination, only to be foiled by frolicking hordes of horny men who fly from far and wide to descend into its walking streets filled with the raging optimism that only comes with the promise of impending release. They realise too late that what happens in Pattaya doesn’t stay in Pattaya like this Indian man who tampered with his passport to hide his Thailand trip from his wife only to find himself being reported nationwide. 

Pattaya sits in the Gulf of Thailand, on the eastern edge, manning the chasm like a sore wound. Like many fucked up places in the world, it owes its current form to none other than the roving fuckers-uppers of things - the US Army. In the late 60s and 70s, exhausted from pouring napalm in the jungles of Vietnam and getting their asses kicked by the Viet Cong, the servicemen came to Pattaya for R&R. Ever the polite, generous hosts, the Thai city indulged them until more and more bars and massage places started mushrooming. Today, men (of whom we talked about before) from all over the world flock to Pattaya to pester locals and rub against a bar girl or two. 

To be fair, Pattaya’s sweaty vices exist within a few streets. Step outside this, and the city does have fantastic beaches, rise condos, glitzy shopping malls, night markets, street food, cafes, and quite shockingly, a giant Buddha who serenely presides over all the debauchery happening nearby with the kind of ‘live and let live’ I’ve come to quite appreciate in life.

A mere 20 minutes away lies Jomtien, with perhaps one of the top beaches in the world that’s serene, beautiful and classy. 

And yet, Pattaya has come to be defined by the depraved goings-on within a tiny part of the city. It’s as if it is Timothy Chalamet who, for some reason, has a fungal-infected, stinky armpit, and so all anyone ever talks about is not his pretty face, boyish charms, blue eyes or that curly hair, but the stink that permeates when they go near him.

And right at the centre of it all, putting the fun in fungal is the Pattaya Man.

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Pattaya Man

Unlike the Florida Man, the Pattaya Man is international. The Pattaya walking street is to the UN what Harvard is to a daycare. 

A composite Pattaya Man is more colourful than the flags that haunt fascist nightmares. He can be white, brown, black or Asian. He could be coming from Seoul or Dubai. Israelis and Palestinians rub shoulders playfully as they jostle from one dance bar to the next. Indians and Pakistanis equally annoy the working girls as they negotiate another 20% discount. Men from Russia and Ukraine stumble together in a drunken haze. Chinese and Japanese men have no border issues here. Americans and British brethren find common boorish ground.  

The Pattaya Man momentarily forgets his politics, suppresses the surging racist retort, holds back a vomit or two and bravely marches on to serve his pleasure.  

But what makes Pattaya Man truly a Pattaya Man? It’s impossible to encapsulate Pattaya Man with mere words, but I have dug into the reserves of top-notch journalism to give you a glimpse.

The Pattaya Man is a product of the streets, the chemicals in his system and the sense that he can truly shed all the artifice and be free. 

A healthy brawl is Pattaya Man’s fundamental right. He finishes his drink, looks into the loving eyes of the bar girl next to him, sizes up the bouncer and realises that he’s worm-holed his way to a salon before the turn of the last century. 

“When you learn enough about the world, even a blade of grass can be a weapon,” says Ken Liu. 

The Pattaya Man recognizes the true potential of a projectile.

Once free from the confines of a bar, Pattaya Man becomes a street fighter and a road warrior. He’s Mad Max of the tropics. He truly awakens as the sun goes down, and his blood becomes as flammable as the gasoline. It’s when he becomes one with his favourite car, bike or truck and, thus conjoined, screeches through the streets until he meets an immovable object.

He knows that life is nothing but a close shave with death all the time. He also believes in the edict: Hair today, gone tomorrow. 

Where others see a ceiling, the Pattaya Man sees possibilities to leap further.  

Unlike the Florida Man, the Pattaya man has style and panache. 

He is self-reflective and works on himself. When it all gets a bit too much he is secure enough to seek external help.  

But through all this, Pattaya Man is a true spiritual animal. He seeks enlightenment and wisdom, however, insane the path to it maybe.

Could be Worse,

Tyag