Observations from Pattaya, Thailand. Written and photographed by Angelica Ruzanova.
Consider the scene: a fully covered man, dressed from head to toe in protective sun gear, selling stretched out squid on a seaside wheelie well into the night. Behind him, a full blown gathering of kites held by the soft Pacific air - among which an inflatable squid, enormous to the former edibles, hovers its tentacles.
Unpredictability raises the people of Sattahip into a widespread state of nonchalance. A tropical storm lifts only a murmur among the chattering crowds seated about seafood, overlooking a long-forgotten sinking ship. Spicy food, ranked on a different scale of pain tolerance, tingles and bites back. And profanity, which blinks wildly in contrast to its Buddhist counterpart, is part of one whole.
On a cloudy Tuesday we take a ฿40 ($1) boat to an island by the name of Ko Lan. The water there is clear, unlike the many smells that hit you upon arrival. Mollusks assemble layer upon layer on the pier steps, and beneath them are shallow waters with mushroom-shaped corals.
The anonymous merchants who cover long stretches of Jomtien beach are polyglots, speaking even Russian to attract bewildered customers. To them, bargaining is like breathing.
This steady attitude, laid back with a phone or with a companion, can be found on a canvas beach bed, on the pavement squatting with a cigarette, or on a kilter rug akin to the leaves above it. Masseuses, whose work is integral to the city’s culture and economy, enliven the temporary bodies, bodies in search of balance between care and pleasure.
The various deities of Buddhist temples seem to have a serious case of sweet tooth. When we walk past their temples, I notice sugary soft drinks, bright red syrups, and milk, presumably to soften the acidity, offered by their caudal end.
Up north where the city grows quieter, the collective soul habituates seven rooms in the Sanctuary of Truth. Those rooms are guided as follows (with a few added notes):
1. “Who are we, where are we from?” Creatures who once walked out of the South China Sea, I think. Creatures as large as elephants and as small as millipedes. Crushing and getting crushed.
At one point, we have the luck to feed vitamin sticky-rice balls to a 40-year-old elephant. This polite lady (at least in the presence of guests) was rescued from an abusive practice of “dragging” at the Cambodia-Thailand border. Her name is Pang Motoki.
2. “How do we live our lives?” It is the art of becoming that leaves many unsettled, maybe in vice massages deep in Bang Lamung district, maybe in its windowless saloons.
3. “The end of life.” We come with nothing and we leave with nothing, as our tour guide says. What stays is our impact, the footprints on the sand, the floating pieces of plastic on the shore.
The color palette of this country is as cozy as a butterfly chrysalis. It may be the consoling feeling of marigold garlands, the tropical combination of blue and yellow fruit sold by the sea foam, or the occasional sweetness of pale pink that surrounds shophouses.
4. “Samples of civilization.” Scriptures from Taoism and Confucianism surround the wooden hall. I feel them surface in monasteries that show Thailand’s own mixed civilization, from Hindu architecture to Sri Lankan law. I feel them retreat amid the static footage of a cockfight on TV.
Ko Lan, akin to Pattaya, seeps in familiar aspects of developing life: small fruit truck vendors by the name of Pla Meuk Ping, ongoing construction in the form of holes and pipes, and random plastic chairs scattered about.
5. “What is a life goal?” To live life purposefully is simple but not effortless. The self is held to the highest pedestal; selfhood tangled in a larger whole, like electric wires unrecognizably buzzing at night.
Each passing motorcycle creates a fully new traffic pattern. They pass by a Muay Thai boxing match hosted on the beach, hearing pre-fight rituals accompanied by uneven Sarama tunes. At one point, it becomes difficult for me to tell whether the boxers are fighting or hugging, or both.
6. “Society is like a two-sided coin.” As with any state of being, one must lose something to gain something, like a fallen coconut that satiates with its freshness.
7. “The beginning of society.” Family is our first society, our guide affirms. And when we talk to another staff worker at the end of her shift who has recently lost her parents, she urges us to tell our loved ones about that love.
The Jomtien night market (the unofficial one) offers a glimpse of a blooming world. Mango and durian vendors feed visitors beside a Nang shadow performance, while people of all genders wear makeup to enjoy it. Public outdoors karaoke stops for no one, and for a moment, it feels like night dominates day.
Iconographic portraits of royalty - both alone and coupled - are hugged by golden rims at major entrances and highways. Spiked rooftops are reminiscent of pointed Chada hats, which seem as much an intimidation as they are an accessory.
Consider another scene: a lady on a motorcycle, blending in with the rest of the speeding crowd, wearing a polished office suit. Or a smiling monk, wrapped in saffron layers with exposed shoulders, observing a go-karting race. It almost makes sense to see the former - the focused driver - more serious than the still latter observing the motion. It makes sense.
Note to reader: As with any form of ethnographic text, it is important to acknowledge the bias that the writer brings into the narrative. My experience in this article comes from a perspective of an “outsider” and a tourist. Knowing that some parts of this culture are inaccessible to my experience by nature, I tried my best to capture the city in a holistic matter, conducting research where needed.
