The Man Who Hated Bangla

Richard hated Bangla Road.

He said so constantly.

Too loud. Too crowded. Too touristy. Not the real Thailand.

He preferred quiet restaurants, meaningful conversations and places where nobody tried to sell him anything illuminated.

Still, whenever friends visited Phuket, Richard considered it his responsibility to show them Bangla.

“For educational purposes.”

On their first night, he led them through the street while explaining everything he disliked.

A bartender waved.

Richard waved back.

A security guard called him by name.

Richard explained they had met once.

At the next venue, his usual drink arrived before he ordered it.

“Lucky guess,” he said.

By midnight, Richard had greeted fourteen people, corrected a DJ about his schedule and complained that one bar had changed its furniture.

His friends became suspicious.

“How often do you come here?”

“Hardly ever.”

Another waitress hugged him.

Richard clarified that Phuket was a small island.

At 2 a.m., his friends wanted to leave.

Richard insisted they stay for one more drink because there was another place they needed to see in order to fully understand why he avoided the area.

They went home without him.

The next afternoon, Richard spent forty minutes criticising the people who waste every night on Bangla Road.

He looked exhausted.

Apparently, his research had continued until sunrise.