When I was a lot younger, Pattaya wasn't a destination; it was an escape. It was the prize at the end of a long week in Bangkok. We didn't have much, but we had friends with cars—the 'rich' friends who would pile six or seven of us into a dusty sedan for the drive south. Those drives were fueled by laughter and the kind of singing that only happens when you’re young and the weekend is wide open.
By
the time we reached the coast, the air would change. The heavy city heat gave way to a salt-tinged breeze. There were no high-rises to block the view, no neon to drown out the stars. It was just us, a few thatched-roof huts, and the rhythmic, gentle sweep of the surf against the sand. We would sit on low wooden stools, our feet nearly in the water, and eat until we couldn't move.
The menu was simple because the sea provided it. We’d start with prawns and squid
so fresh they still tasted of the Gulf of Thailand, charred over charcoal. Then came the marinated pork skewers—sweet, smoky, and perfect for sharing. And, of course, the staples: a mountain of green papaya salad, the sharp lime and chili waking us up, served with baskets of warm sticky rice.
If we were lucky, a whole BBQ chicken would arrive, its skin golden and aromatic. We ate with our hands, talked over
the sound of the waves, and felt like we owned the world. That version of Pattaya is gone now, tucked away in our memories, but those flavors? They can never be forgotten. In fact, they are not. We continue enjoying these foods to this day, as each of the dishes I have mentioned are scattered throughout many of my classes.