A Weekend in Hua Hin

[Guest]

And so to Hua Hin for the weekend – King Rama 6’s favorite holiday retreat and I must confess, I do have affection for the old place myself. I lived there for several months during the early 1990’s – a period when farangs were still discovering Hua Hin’s charm and tranquility. There was Donny the New Zealander who owned the All Nations guest-house, British Bernie who ran Bernie’s Inn, Swiss Tommy and the Zuri Bar, and Colin Cotterill who managed the Red Indian - that was about your lot. The farang community was a small and tightly-knit one, and I was proud to belong. In those times, the days were spent lazing on the beach, and at night, there were a dozen restaurants to eat in, half a dozen bars to get pissed in, and if you stayed out later than midnight it was probably because you couldn’t find your way back home. But places change and this is a new millenium. I always felt that Hua Hin was a commercial explosion waiting to happen.

I decided to travel down by train on the Friday afternoon. Why? Well, firstly I always take the train over the government bus service and secondly, to arrive at Hua Hin station, with its colonial splendor, is a quite wonderful start to a weekend. The only downside to stepping off a train on to Hua Hin’s trim and well-tended platform is the touts – they come at you from all angles – rickshaw drivers, motorcycle boys, hotel agents. Some of whom I have no doubt would carry you on their back for the price of 20 fags. Alas, I knew exactly where I was heading and waved them away with a rolled up copy of the Bangkok Post. This is never enough in Hua Hin and at least half a dozen touts followed me out of the station badgering me with that incredibly irksome ‘where you go? where you go? After 50 yards or so I had had quite enough and turned on them with rising anger. I accused them of appalling shortages of intelligence and they dispersed – with considerably more grace than I perhaps deserved.

When I’m in Hua Hin I always stay at Baan Somboon, a 5-minute walk from the station, because it is everything a guest house should be. It’s spotlessly clean, friendly, and has a neat little restaurant with an extensive menu, cable TV and daily newspapers on wooden gripper rods. The rooms are furnished in soothing pastel colors of peaches and cream and quality prints hang on the wall. I always feel immediately at home.

I took an early evening stroll along Hua Hin’s main shopping street, which has now become depressingly over-run with tailors’ shops. Sure the inviting restaurants and the quaint beer gardens are still there but the number of tailor’s shops is ridiculous. There were a fair number of tourists about I’ll grant you, but do they all want clothes made? And here’s the strange thing about the tailors in Hua Hin. They all have an Indian guy standing outside trying to lure customers in. And all these Indian guys look as though they’ve been dressed by a blind person. They almost serve as a warning not to enter as if the sign on the window stating ‘we’ll make you 8 suits and 30 shirts for 10 bucks’ isn’t enough to put you off already.

I walked down as far as Dechanuchit Rd where there are 4 seafood restaurants side by side, and let’s not forget that Hua Hin is famous for its crabs and lobsters and all things straight from the gulf of Thailand. All 4 restaurants had a wipe clean notice board out front claiming that they had ‘the freshest seafood in town’ – this always depresses me. I felt like dragging all the owners out and explaining to them the English superlative grammar rule. Sensing this would probably be a waste of time, I didn’t bother but I certainly didn’t eat in any of them either. I am actually a seafood philistine and proud of it. You could serve me mussels and whelks while still wearing flippers and I wouldn’t muster up an ounce of enthusiasm. Good God man! I even prefer tinned salmon to the real thing.

I had a simple Thai meal at a back-street restaurant thankfully devoid of holiday-makers and then searched for a nice open air beer-bar in which to sip a pint or 3 of the local brew and enjoy the sea breeze. Hua Hin’s nightlife scene has certainly swelled but sadly not for the better. There were far too many bars who think that just by putting up a few cheap rope-lights, a worn-out dartboard and sticking on a cassette from the Kylie Minogue jump up and down and wiggle your little tits school of music, the punters are just going to roll in. It doesn’t work that way at all, and most of the bar girls were seriously under-employed.

I chose to blow the froth of a couple in a bar called the 19th hole (I should have known better). It consisted of about six ex-pats wearing hideous shorts all grouped together discussing dog legs and sand-traps. It was tedious to the extreme. The one girl on show wore the world-weary expression of anyone who has to listen to drunken golf natter 365 days a year. I paid the bill and pissed off back to the cotton chintz sheets of the guesthouse.

I rose early and after a fine Thai breakfast of fried eggs, beans and toast, headed off to Khao Takiab (chopstick mountain), some 6 kms away from the main resort. It’s a wonderful place. Dominated by a huge Buddha statue, you have to negotiate steep flights of steps in order to reach the top and enjoy panoramic views of the bay. Amazingly despite the peaceful ambience of Khao Takiab and the hordes of naughty monkeys that take bananas from right out of your hand – the mountain gets very little in the way of tourist traffic. It’s a place to kick back and relax. The only thing that ruins it is the Thai nuns who look after the temple. They’ve all got faces as long as a gasman’s mac – In fact I’ve seen happier looking bloodhounds.

When I finally reached the top of the mountain puffing and panting, there were just two other people – a couple of fresh-faced female backpackers chatting in some obscure Scandinavian language. They were gorgeous and I lingered far longer than was appropriate. Eventually they asked if I would take a photo of them – bra-less in front of the sweeping bay. I duly obliged and handed back the camera. They gave me ‘is there anything we can possibly do for you’ smiles, and I have to admit that one or two ideas crossed my mind. However the moment passed and still nursing the fantasy, I began the descent down the mountain on the proverbial 3 legs.

I walked back to Hua Hin along the beach, which gives you ample chance to let the waves lap over your bare feet and to see how much of a mess constructors are making of the Prachuap coastline – I’ve never seen so many bloody cranes!

I enjoyed a late afternoon beer Sing and partook of a portion of fish and chips that was not only undercooked but swimming in mayonnaise – obviously the work of a Dutch chef. I spent what seemed like hours wiping white gunk from each individual chip much to the amusement of the staff. I hate Arsenal football club, and I hate getting up for work on Monday mornings but hate isn’t strong enough a word where mayonnaise is involved.

I repaired to the guesthouse where I watched the last half of a Steven Seagal movie on UBC – managing to pick up the plot effortlessly, and changed into my evening schmutter ready for a night on the town. I have no qualms about sitting in dreadful bars with dreadful taped music but I do hate having to sit next to the classic ‘ honeymoon couple on holiday’ – she with white sleeveless blouse and matching plastic accessories that show off a 2-day sunburn, and her husband dressed from head to toe in Reebok with Mom and Dad tattooed across his knuckles in Indian ink. Have they never heard of Corfu and Tenerife?

I wasn’t catching the train back to Bangkok until late afternoon, so I did something that is both foolish and life-threatening on the Sunday morning – I hired a motorcycle – something I always do in Hua Hin. I just wish that they’d take the shopping basket off the front. There’s me zipping along the highways and byways with the wind in my hair grinning at all the young girls at the side of the road, and yet I know deep down that they’re thinking who’s the c*** with the shopping basket? I don’t remember Steve McQueen in the Great Escape trying to jump the barbed wire with a shopping basket on the front do you? Actually, he probably wouldn’t have got caught because the SS officers would have been rolling on the floor pissing themselves. Sorry for this slight diversion into classic 60’s war films – I had hired the bike to drive out toward the Burmese border and to see one of Hua Hin’s best kept secrets – the caves at Lap Lae. Everyone who drives out that way goes to see the Pala-U waterfall. Take it from me – it is absolute pants! Not so much a waterfall as more an uninspiring dribble, and yet the Thais go there in droves.

It is very easy to miss the sign to Lap Lae caves and after a sharp right turn, it involves a mile ride down an unpaved dusty track with your little shopping basket looking as though it’s about to fly off. However the trip is well worth it, and you invariably have the whole place to yourself. The caves are looked after by a solitary monk who for a donation of about 50-100 baht will turn on the generator that powers the electric light in the caves. They are simply awesome. Bats swarm above your head and you can spend hours clambering over the stalagmites as you wander from cave to cave. I’ve never felt closer to the center of the earth. After an hour or so, you’re usually forced out by the bitter cold and the eerie silence. I thanked the old monk for his hospitality but I could swear he was giggling at the shopping basket.

Back to Hua Hin on my trusty Suzuki shopper, burning into town like Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider – well, almost. Just enough time to gather up my belongings, settle the bill at Baan Somboon and then fight off the touts at Hua Hin station – this time making allegations of questionable parentage.

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Bangkok Phil ]

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Bangkok Phil ]

[Guest]

Hi Bangkok Phil,

good report on a (I believe) fairly unremarkable destination - except for one historical inaccuracy: Hua Hin was Rama 6's favourite holiday resort. His summer palace in Hua Hin, Wang Klai Kangwon was built in 1926, a whopping 58 years after Rama 4's (King Mongkut's) death.

Don't let my nitpicking keep you from writing more reports!

Cheers, SB

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Scum_Baggio ]

[Guest]

Thanks Scum,

I really wasn't sure and couldn't be arsed to get my reference books out.

I've been to that palace twice - well worth a visit.

[Sukhumvit]

quote:

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Originally posted by Bangkok Phil:

[i chose to blow the froth of a couple in a bar called the 19th hole

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Bangkok Phil ]

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Bangkok Phil ][/QB]

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Phil man,

what kind of perversion is that? You never struck me as the kind of guy who went both ways.

Or were they a couple of girls.

[thalenoi]

Thanks for this report Bangkok Phil.

I passed by Hua Hin late may, planned to stay at the Baan Somboon, but getting of the bus from Prachuap let a tout convince me to bring me somewhere on Petchakasem in a soi full of reasoneably new guesthouses, at 700 baht for aircon and common swimming pool a tad over the top, but acceptable. I liked the location away from "downtown" Hua Hin, which i disliked. This place is not Thailand. I called my street "farangstreet in farangtown"

Cha-Am yes, Hua Hin no

[Fatbastard]

Your a riot Phil,

I felt really pissed off with every thing this morning, but the vision of Steve McQeen breaking free with his shopping basket equipped motorbike kept me going until luchtime, when my shot of Kwuay Teow took over.