My story is not that unusual, although at the time it was happening I thought it was. Being a newbie to Thailand, I’d never realized how many falang on holiday meet, and fall in love with, a local lad. That must be why they call it the Land Of Smiles – how could you not walk around smiling all the time when some gorgeous young man you just met professes his love for you? I know, the doubters out there will scoff. The disgruntled will claim it’s not real love, it’s not a genuine relationship. But they are wrong. They don’t know. When Ait looks into my eyes and tells me how much he loves me, the truth of those emotions shine through. So I thought I’d share my story to show you that you can in fact find love in Thailand. Because it happened to me.

When you are a single gay American far too quickly sliding into your golden years, life can be lonely. I’m successful professionally, enjoy the love of my nuclear family and of my small circle of like-minded friends, and have enough hobbies and interests to occupy my time. But a loving relationship passed me by and I had no one to share my life with. In my younger days, finding sexual partners was never a problem. As I’ve put on the years that has become more difficult. Those I’m attracted to are still those I used to score in my 20s and 30s. Unfortunately, few of them are interested in me now that I’m in my 60s. And those that are, are in to daddies. Which wouldn’t be a problem except it just isn’t very erotic to be reminded how old and out of shape I am right in the middle of an orgasm.

The internet helped expanded my base of possible sex partners, but didn’t do much toward adding more notches to my bed post. And far too often the 30-year-old hottie I’d been corresponding with turned into a 60-year-old man who was just as lonely and desperate as me. A few of those guys – those who realized and accepted that we would never be lovers or even fuck buddies – became internet friends, people I could talk with who shared my likes and dislikes, and with whom I could discuss how badly it sucks to be a single gay man in his 60s. But then I meet Tom, a happy sort of bloke who started telling me about the wonders of Thailand.

Tom had been visiting Thailand for over 20 years. He sang the praises of a beautiful beach town where crystal clear waters and sandy white beaches ringed with palm trees provided an exotic tropical setting for a nonstop parade of beautiful brown-skinned young men, all of whom were looking for a companion just like me. Pattaya, he said, was heaven on Earth, and he told me of the gay bars where younger gay locals gathered in hopes of meeting an older Westerner. Tom was a nice guy and while I had no reason to doubt him, his story just sounded too good to be true. But a bit of research on the internet said differently. Paradise in fact was real. And it was calling my name.

Lured by the siren’s song promising everything I was looking for in my life, I paid to expedite getting a passport (having never been out of the country before) and booked a round trip ticket for the next month. That time flew by though I vacillated between thinking my departure date would never arrive and wishing I could put it off just a bit longer to give me more time for picking out my clothes for the trip. Clothing suitable for the tropics and beach wear are not the easiest choices when you are used to using your wardrobe to hide your physical faults rather than exposing them for the world to see. But Tom was of great help. He told me most of the gentlemen of our age wore the skimpiest of bathing suits in Pattaya, secure in their knowledge that the local boys all tend to lust after aged physiques; rolls of fat, sagging pecs, wrinkles and all.

The big date finally arrived and after an excruciatingly long flight squeezed into a seat at the back of the plane that was certainly never intend to accommodate a man of my stature, I landed in Bangkok, tired, worn, and yes, a bit grumpy. The long walk to Immigration was a bit of a challenge, and the clamor of the crowds waiting in the arrivals hall an assault on the senses. Not sure of where to go to arrange transportation, but knowing there was no way I could afford the limousine service offered by the friendly young girls at the baggage area, I stepped outside looking for a quiet place I could rest for a minute while I gathered my wits about me. But the gods were looking over me and no sooner had I walked beyond the terminal’s doors I heard a loud clapping and the sing-song voice of a local women calling to me, “Pattaya transpo!” her lilting voice sang from above. I looked up, caught her eye, smiled, and got in return on of those beautiful Thai smiles filled with warmth and greeting.

An athletic sort, quicker than I ever imagined possible, she hustled down to my level, grabbed my bags, and led me to the car she had waiting for me. And just my luck I’d managed to find the transpo service offering one of the lowest prices in town, as she explained to me while trying to make heads or tails out of the colorful handful of local currency I had obtained at the ATM I finally pulled out the 2,500 baht fee required. Smiles all around – and you really have to visit Thailand to understand just how much those smiles are filled with love for you, a complete stranger – the nice transpo lady even took the time to explain to me the local custom on tipping. She also helpfully explained that falang, the word she’d been using in discussing my travel arrangements with her driver, was Thai for Honored Guest. In any case, I have to say that 200 baht tip was worth every penny spent considering the quick and efficient manner she and my driver got me out of the airport and onto the road.

Being from California, I’m used to witnessing the driving skills of the Asian people, but must admit I was unprepared for a highway filled with Oriental drivers. I suppose you could put a positive spin on the experience and consider it a free ride in a demolition derby, but I must admit I was a bit unnerved by the constant speed fluctuations and lane changes that are the norm on Thailand roadways. I tried to ask my driver to slow down, but he spoke little English. He did understand enough to recognize my concern though and pointed to the small golden statue of a fat bald-headed Chinese man on his dashboard and said, “No problem! Buddha take care of you!” That was my first introduction to how religious Thais are and how their religion is such an integral part of their daily lives.

Unfortunately Buddha must not be a fan of speeding – I tried to decipher how fast we were travelling, but the car’s speedometer used the metric system so I couldn’t quite compute what 80 meant in real numbers – and we had the great misfortune to be pulled over by a policeman on a motorcycle. (As a side note I have to mention as a warning to other first time visitors to a foreign land that you have to be careful to not make faulty assumptions. For example, just before we got pulled over I could have sworn my driver was flagging down the policeman. But that would just be silly. I mean who asks to get a ticket?) Anyway, under Thai law when you are in a taxi, as the passenger you are responsible for paying for traffic violations, and while that could have ruined my entire holiday the Thai government has set up a system for you to pay traffic fines on the spot. So 1,000 baht later we were back on our way – and really, if you think about it, $30 for a speeding ticket is pretty damn cheap!

We made a quick stop to fill the car up with gasoline (note: when you arrange transpo at the airport, the cost of gas is not included) and by the time I paid the toll my once healthy wad of baht had shrunk to a pittance. Knowing I still needed to give the driver his tip when we arrived at my hotel (the nice lady back at the airport had suggested 500 baht was a fair amount) I was a bit concerned, but my driver knew of a money exchange place where we could stop, and though the rate of exchange was much lower than at the airport, my wallet was filled again and we were good to go.

Coming into town, the first signs of civilization were not the picture postcard paradise that Tom had led me to believe to expect. In fact, back home the small pockets of residential housing we passed would be called slums. But in Thailand they are called villages, and as obviously poor as the inhabitants were, almost every shack proudly sported a satellite tv dish. It would have been a bit depressing, but I reminded myself that Thailand is still a developing country, and while the locals may be poor in some ways, from the gatherings of old men sitting shirtless out in front of a few of the shacks, I had to assume they were rich in their sense of community.

My driver had been so helpful during our trip that I hated to disappoint him when we got into town, he knew of a hotel that offered a much better rate than I’d arranged for, but since my stay was prepaid I couldn’t take him up on his offer. He even got confused at one point and told me the hotel I’d booked was closed, but that was an understandable mistake to make what with there being so many places to stay in town who’d expect anyone to keep them all straight?

The town of Pattaya wasn’t quite what I had expected either. Rather than the palm tree shaded tropical beach resort I had pictured, it was a bit on the dirty side, with lots of concrete, exposed electrical lines, dusty sun bleached signage – much of it surprisingly in Russian – and congested streets teeming with those on holiday and never-ending lines of vehicles crawling along its dilapidated streets instead of the exotic tropical vegetation shaded boulevards I’d envisioned. But then I assumed they saved the good stuff for the beach and before I knew it we’d pulled up in front of my new home away from home, Le Café Royale, a local inn Tom had suggested that catered to a gay clientele and whose website proudly proclaimed a major refurbishment in 2009 with the addition of new rooms, and even hallways and décor!

In the laid back way that Thais are known for, and which I’d soon come to know and love, it took about 15 minutes before the registration desk clerk showed up, but that gave me time to savor the quaint lobby and adjoining eatery that I’d be calling home for the next week. Open to the outside, and comfortable I was sure once the balmy seaside breezes kicked in, the cafe already had a good number of visitors, many sitting with a local friend who often looked young enough to be their grandson.

At first I was a bit taken back. I’d never seen so many grumpy, unhappy faces in one place before. Even the young local boys didn’t seem happy to be there. But then I realized it was already late in the afternoon and I figured those weren’t frowns of displeasure but rather the tired faces of a bunch of men and boys who’d already spent hours exhausting themselves participating in all of the beach activities Pattaya has to offer – I couldn’t wait myself to try my hand at a jet ski. And the boys, each and everyone of them engrossed in their cell phone, were undoubtedly busy making arrangements for their night on the town. I was sure I too would be soon joining them, nestled up to a glass of gin while waiting to get my second wind before retiring back to my room to change into evening wear for a night out at Pattaya’s bars and clubs.

At my age I’d prefer to not walk up any more flights of stairs than necessary, but the desk clerk told me the elevator was finit so I slowly made my way to my beautifully decorated, Thai-design room (Thais are evidently deeply into minimalism) where the bell hop, recognizing my fatigue from all the hours of travel, offered to give me a soothing Thai massage for 1,500 baht, which sounded like a great deal but I was just too puckered out to take advantage of. Instead I unpacked and flopped down on my bed for a nap so I’d be refreshed and could head down to the gay beach for the sunset.

All good stories must come to an end, so obviously this one will go on for quite some time yet. Next up I’ll cover my first visit to gay Jomtien Beach, and my first night out at the bars where I immediately met Ait, my new boyfriend, and quickly fell in love.

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