There’s a certain romance to the idea of a Western author tucked away in a tropical corner of Southeast Asia, pounding out stories on an old typewriter, ceiling fan whirring lazily overhead, the oppressive heat softened only by the shade of palm trees. It’s an image straight out of a Graham Greene novel—an expat writer living the Hemingway-esque dream, far from the grey hustle of the West, finding inspiration in the vibrant, chaotic streets of Thailand.
For me, this wasn’t just a fantasy. It was an epiphany I had decades ago as a young man in the U.S. Navy.
Our ship didn’t dock at Phuket; it anchored offshore, and we took a small boat, called a "liberty launch" into port. My first experience of Thailand wasn’t in the bustling city but on a winding bus ride over the island’s hills, sitting behind a local woman in somewhat traditional dress, who was calmly transporting cages of live, squawking chickens to market. It was surreal. I kept thinking okay, no way this is going to happen in America. The bus careened around tight corners, well over the posted speed limit, and there were no guardrails along the sides of the road where there was just a steep cliff...while the sailors gripped the overhead handrails for dear life.
Our first stop was at a nondescript red building that, judging by the number of scantily clad women waving and calling, “Hello, you!” seemed like some sort of brothel. A few wide-eyed young sailors, their intentions obvious, disembarked in a boisterous pack, literally running to get cold beer from a nearby stand—it wasn’t much more than a lemonade stand. I couldn’t help but wonder, how are they going to get back? Where will they stay?
This was going to be my world class rest and relaxation after serving the better part of a year in the Persian Gulf. I wanted the best hotel to be had... with the best room, and fancied myself as an international traveler in the class of James Bond... In Thailand. Act as if.
The bus driver put the vehicle in gear with a grind but then slammed on the brakes as a late arrival appeared. A teenage Thai girl got on with a dog wearing a cone, looking for a seat. Three sailors immediately stood up to offer theirs. She sat, the dog at her feet, and off we went again. I was struck by how nonchalant the locals were—this was just another morning for them. For me, it was a wild, exhilarating introduction to a land that would become my second home.
I knew then, as we swayed and rocked through the jungle-covered hills, that I would be back. This place was just so different and beyond my imagining. What an adventure those 3 days were as a young sailor with a pocket full of money, who hadn't stepped onto land in nearly two months. The bus finally came to a stop near the Hilton hotel, I persuaded the staff to let me rent the presidential suite. At first they said no but then I politely hinted that there wasn't going to be any presidential detail arriving for the next 3 days because if they were security would already be here. They relented, and I found myself in a vast hotel room complete with a sunken tub and a great view of Phuket Town and the ocean. Feeling generous I tipped the bellboy $20 even though I carried my own go-bag. He was astounded, and took really good care over the length of the stay for two days. And later, running low on money but not wanting to go back to the ship lest I get roped into a working party with the onboard duty section, I decided to go cheaper and rent a Hut on the beach.
The next morning, standing on a beach just outside the little hut that I had rented for a few dollars, the door closed not with a lock but with a criss cross of hemp rope on the door handle to keep it from blowing open in the wind at night, near a single two lane road winding towards the town, I watched the sun rise and it was perfectly quiet except for a lone college-age Thai girl riding past on a Honda motorbike, blue jean shorts and a white frilly shirt waving in the breeze. She rode relaxed, not a care in the world, honking her high pitched Honda motorbike horn and waving at me... And then she was gone, on her way to wherever, probably the morning Market.
I was stunned at the realization that I really needed to be here. In contrast to the chaos and regimentation and rules and regulations of living on a warship, risking my life, I wanted peace. I wanted quiet. It was a moment of absolute clarity, an epiphany that I held onto through all the years that followed: I would survive everything life threw at me, and one day, I would return here as an old man, writing science fiction stories, living in Northern Thailand, near the mountains. I saw these as prescient images in my mind.
Now, nearly nine years into living that dream, as an American expat writer living in Northern Thailand, I can say it’s been a journey filled with joys and challenges that have shaped both my life and my writing.
The Allure of the Old-School Expat Life
Thailand has long been a haven for Western writers, a place where they could find inspiration in the vibrant culture, the friendliness of the people, the mountains, the clear skies (except during the rice burning season), and the slower pace of life. It’s impossible not to think of the greats who came before me. Joseph Conrad, the author of Heart of Darkness, sailed through these waters and once stayed at the Oriental Hotel in Bangkok. Marco Polo, one of the earliest travel writers, chronicled his journey through the region in the 1200s, calling the land "Lokak." And in 1923, W. Somerset Maugham arrived from Ceylon, embarking on a journey through the Shan States, crossing the Salween River, and eventually making his way from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. These writers were captivated by the charm of rural Siam, its natural beauty, and the exotic allure that has drawn travelers here for centuries.
It’s a different world now, of course—modernized and connected in ways that Conrad and Maugham couldn’t have imagined. Yet, in many ways, the essence of Thailand remains unchanged. There’s still that sense of timeless charm, the lush landscapes, and the feeling that life moves just a little slower here. It’s this blend of old and new that I find so compelling.
The Beer Bars and the Old Guard
The expat scene in Thailand has evolved, but traces of the old guard remain. Walk into any of the beer bars on a quiet afternoon, and you’ll likely find a few long-time residents who have been here forever, nursing a cold Singha, swapping stories of the good old days. They’re often retired U.S. Navy veterans like myself, or old Marines and Army vets from the Vietnam era. You’ll see them in their ball caps, embroidered with unit patches, or wearing blue jean vests lined with wool fleece, adorned with flags from countries they’ve visited. It’s a kind of camaraderie that feels like a throwback to a different era.
Whenever I stop by one of these places, it’s not long before the conversation with the local (usually female) staff turns to the usual questions: "Are you married?" "Do you have a Thai girlfriend?" "How long have you lived here?" The locals are often surprised by how well I speak Thai for a foreigner, a skill honed over years of living here and making an effort to integrate into the culture. It’s a small thing, but it’s moments like these that make me feel at home, like I’ve earned my place here in some small way.
A Country in Transition, Much Like Myself
Thailand is a country straddling the line between tradition and modernity. On one hand, you have the sleek, air-conditioned co-working spaces filled with digital nomads tapping away on their laptops, launching e-books and startups. On the other, there are the familiar sights of massage spas, elephant pants sold in tourist shops, beer bars, and street vendors selling spicy som tam and grilled meat skewers. Cannabis cafes are springing up alongside elephant camps and jungle treks, catering to a new generation of travelers while the old expat haunts remain steadfast.
I see this transition mirrored in my own life. I’ve traded the typewriter for a laptop, the stacks of handwritten notes for PDFs and digital files. But the essence of what I’m doing—writing stories, exploring new worlds in my mind—hasn’t changed. I’m still the young sailor who stepped off that liberty launch, and walked into the jungle, to discover a bus sitting on an asphalt road, waiting for sailors to board all those years ago, wide-eyed and ready for adventure, but now with a bit more experience and a lot more stories to tell.
The Daily Grind: Finding Focus in the Chaos
Every morning, I wake up early to the sound of roosters and the roar of the Chiang Mai international airport a few kilometers away. My kids need to be dropped off at school, which means braving the chaotic commute through the Chiang Mai Gate.
It’s a mix of pedal bikes, food carts, tourists, and motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic like a swarm of bees. It feels like I’m risking my life just getting through it, but it’s become a part of my daily routine, a reminder of the vibrant energy that pulses through this city. An area of contrasts: there is a modern Tesco Lotus mini Mart, selling fresh fruit, prepackaged soup, and cat food, right across the street from an 800-year-old guard Tower remnant from the old ramparts of the ancient city that once guarded Chiang Mai from the predations of the Burmese Army... But now the walls and tower gates are simply a target for tourists and their cameras.
By the time I return home, I’m more than ready to retreat into the quiet of my work room. I have a little red cup of Nescafé coffee from the local 7-Eleven and sit down at my online gamers PC desk, with a giant gaming mouse pad, surrounded by shelves of my notebooks, science reference books, and maps of fictional binary and trinary star systems, as well as my trusty 30-year-old Texas instruments graphing calculator from my astrophysics classes in college to do orbital mechanics calculations. It’s in these quiet moments, that I dive into the worlds I’ve created, crafting the next chapter of Merchant of Vision.
The Timeless Inspiration of Thailand
There’s a simplicity and beauty to life here that I find endlessly inspiring. The food, the landscape, the rice and cow farms predominant, the people—it all contributes to a sense of place that seeps into my writing. I often think of those old-school writers who found their muse here, sitting under the same sun, feeling the same humid air, listening to the same cicadas. They wrote about the simplicity of rural Siam, about the charm of a land that felt timeless even as the world around it changed.
As I continue my journey as a writer, I’m grateful to be part of this tradition, even in the modern age of WiFi and digital publishing. Thailand remains a place of inspiration, a home away from home, and the realization of a dream that started with a bus ride on a winding hill in Phuket. It’s a place that’s shaped me as a writer and as a person, and for that, I’ll always be thankful.
If you’ve ever thought about visiting or making your home here, I can’t recommend it enough. It’s not always easy, the traffic is certainly a sometimes lethal challenge, but it’s an adventure unlike any other. And for a writer, what could be better than that?