How Thailand Became My Home

I grew up in the 1950s and ’60s, the only child of older parents in the San Fernando Valley. My father was a banker before bankers made big money. We were not rich, but comfortable.

As I began my career in security and law enforcement, I traveled extensively in my 20s and 30s, always alone and on a tight budget. I’ve been to more than 40 countries, some of which no longer exist, like Yugoslavia. Back in the 1970s and ’80s, travel could be incredibly cheap.

I’d buy a 30-day Eurail pass for $300 and bounce around Europe with no specific destination for weeks. I might plan to take a train to Italy, but find the train too crowded and hop onto a different one bound for Sweden.

I spoke a little French, so I often wandered the French countryside, visiting small towns. Back then hotels in France would post their rates in the windows, so I would just walk around town until I found a nice-looking place I could afford.

In 1982, after seeing the Daryl Hannah movie Summer Lovers, with stunning locations on the Greek island of Santorini, I knew I had to go there. Over the next year or so I spent several trips hopping around the Greek islands. Back then, you could take a ferry near Athens for next-to nothing and visit dozens of islands.

Locals would meet the ferries at the dock, showing pictures of lovely rooms in their homes available for $5 a night. Santorini felt fresh and authentic, and it was certainly much less crowded and pricey than today. I remember great visits to Naxos and Paros as well.

Greece whet my whistle for islands and beach life, which soon led me to Thailand. Back in the early 1990s, airline competition was really heating up and major players would make offers like “fly this many segments and earn a free ticket to anywhere we fly.”

I had one of those tickets and it was set to expire soon. I’d spent a lot of time bouncing around Europe but never visited Asia, so I decided it was time. Out of South Korea (tensions with North Korea), Taiwan (tensions with China), Japan (too expensive), Singapore (nice but expensive), The Philippines (kind of the middle of nowhere), or Thailand (big, cheap, lots of beaches), I chose the last option.

I had two guidebooks with me. One said “Pattaya, sleazy tourist resort, don’t go;” the other said “sleazy tourist resort, good for a couple of days,” so off I went to Pattaya.

I made a reservation at a Bangkok hotel and boarded the plane. Growing up in LA, I was NOT a fan of big cities. The Thai capital struck me as noisy, crowded, and hot. With no mass transit, road traffic was hellacious. And if you strolled a block off the main drag you’d be in slums.

After two days I needed to get out. I saw an ad in my hotel’s magazine for a Pattaya hotel: $16 per night. I had two guidebooks with me. One said “Pattaya, sleazy tourist resort, don’t go;” the other said “sleazy tourist resort, good for a couple of days,” so off I went to Pattaya.

I arrived the next day, still unable to speak a word of Thai. I showed the ad to a taxi driver, pointed and asked him to “take me here.” At the hotel I placed the ad on the reception desk and asked for the very room from the photo.

I’d planned to spend a couple of days in Pattaya before traveling all around Thailand, and possibly to Malaysia and even Singapore, in the few weeks I had before my return flight to the U.S. But all that was about to change.

I checked in, put my backpack in the closet, set my shaving kit on the bathroom counter, and headed out to explore. I returned a couple hours later to find my shaving kit missing. I kept my nice electric shaver in there, and this was just the beginning of my trip, so I called the desk.

Thai people have a sort of compulsion to make others happy, to satisfy, especially when it comes to foreigners visiting their country, and especially when they work in a hotel.

Of course nobody spoke English back then. I told them I was missing a small blue shaving kit. They sent me towels. I called again and they sent toilet paper. Thank you, but that’s not the issue.

I called again and asked if anyone spoke English. They said the manager would be there the following morning around 11am. The next morning I went into town for breakfast and came back to look for the manager.

He hadn’t arrived yet, so I told the reception desk I’d sit and wait. If you’ve been to Thailand, you know that Thai people have a sort of compulsion to make others happy, to satisfy, especially when it comes to foreigners visiting their country, and especially when they work in a hotel.

A guest with a problem they’re unable to solve is their nightmare, so my sitting there in the lobby, waiting for their boss, must have been excruciating. One of them soon called an Englishman, Roy, who’d been living in the hotel for a while and had become their unofficial foreigner problem-solver.

Roy appeared and I told him about the missing shaving kit. “They didn’t steal it,” he explained. “They don’t shave. I’ll go use my broken Thai and see what I can do.”

He went to the desk, and a minute later the staffers scurried off as he came and sat with me. He asked me what I thought of Pattaya so far, and if I’d like him to show me around. I said I would, just as an employee came rushing up to us with my shaving kit.

A maid had assumed it had been left behind by a checked-out guest, as my backpack had been in the closet when she came by and I hadn’t disturbed anything else in the room before heading out to explore. Totally reasonable.

Roy met me in the lobby that evening and we headed out. He took me to the snooker hall next door. “Here’s where we play snooker every afternoon,” he said. Then to the massage parlor next door. “Here’s how this place works.”

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I still had an itch to see the rest of Thailand. Every couple of days I’d tell Roy, “I’ve got to go or I’ll never see anything.” He’d smile: “That’s what they all say.”

Next, the bar complex across the street: “Here’s how we drink.” We walked down to the beach and passed a nice open-air cafe—”Here’s where we have breakfast”—and a slightly higher-end restaurant. “Here’s where we have dinner.” Finally he led me to a club down the block. “Here’s where we go after dinner to watch traditional Thai dancing and live show.”

We had a great night, and in the morning I knew I’d found my new home. Though I still had an itch to see the rest of Thailand. Every couple of days I’d tell Roy, “I’ve got to go or I’ll never see anything.” He’d smile: “That’s what they all say.”

I never did leave Pattaya—not until my flight home. I left thinking it would be at least six months before I’d be able to return, but I was back two months later and immediately bought an under-construction condo on Jomtien Beach. That was 30 years ago, and I’ve considered Thailand my home ever since.

Nearly everybody considering or living the expat life has different ideas about it. I’ve always wanted to have a plan B and usually a plan C as well. What I love about Thailand is that it is peaceful, relaxing, and the people are the most kind-hearted I’ve encountered in the world.

Medical care is reasonable and first rate. I have an American doctor friend who’s been going to Thailand for all his medical care and dental work for decades. I didn’t fall for Thailand for its nightlife and tourist attractions.

I simply found it to be the perfect place to relax and get away from the 24-hour-a-day pressures of U.S. living. Knowing my home in Thailand is always there waiting for me is what keeps me going—it’s what keeps me free.

I’d like to thank Roy, my Pattaya tour guide who ultimately became a close friend, and the hard-working maid who took my shaving kit to the hotel’s lost and found. Considering what happened afterward, she likely changed my life—for the better.