I’ve just finished my morning coffee – strong, black, with a hint of local palm sugar that whispers stories of tropical mornings. Bukowski would’ve loved this view, I think. Not the romantic postcard perfection, but the raw, unfiltered beauty of a place that doesn’t try to impress anyone.
The sea today is restless, like an old traveler with too many memories. I can hear the long-tail boats in the distance, their engines a rhythmic pulse against the waves. My notebook is open, pages slightly damp from the sea breeze – perfect writing conditions.
Yesterday, I spent hours at old Somchai’s seafood stall. His Tom Yum? Jesus, it’s not just soup. It’s a liquid narrative of this island – spicy as local gossip, complex as the lives that simmer here. Each spoonful is a conversation, each chili a punctuation mark of flavor.
Another day in paradise. Not the glossy tourist brochure kind, but the real, breathing, imperfect kind that gets under your skin and stays there.
Cheers, world. Another morning on Maenam Beach.
Would you like me to elaborate on anything?
