A working day, and then a big night
Thailand does not stop for Christmas. The twenty-fifth is a Thursday or a Tuesday or whatever it is, the shops are open, the baht buses run, and the girls on the counter at the 7-Eleven wear a red hat because head office sent them. What Pattaya does instead is fill up. High season is at its height, the flights from Manchester and Stockholm and Melbourne are full, and half the people in the hall on Christmas Eve are people who chose to be exactly here rather than at home in the dark.
The bar does the things a bar does. There are lights on the sign, a tree on the counter that is too small and has been the same tree since 2024, and a hat on Min that she wears for the photograph and then takes off. There is no set menu, no ticket and no charge for anything that is not a drink, because there is no such thing on any night. Lee's Diner across the soi does a roast on the day, and it arrives at the tables on a plate with gravy, which in thirty-two degrees is either a comfort or a mistake depending on where you are from.
The band plays Christmas Eve if it falls on a band night, which is most years, and the set has two Christmas songs in it, both of which the room sings and one of which the singer has apologised for every year since she learned it. Christmas Day is a Thursday in 2025 and a Friday in 2026, both band nights. The Thursday regulars come on the Thursday. Some of them have not had a Christmas anywhere else in a decade.
Who is in the hall, and what it feels like
Families, which is unusual for us. Grown children out to see where their parents winter, sat at a stage-side table with a father who is showing off the band as if he booked it. Couples in their sixties who have done a dozen of these and have the second table from the steps by seven. Men on their own who did not want to be on their own on the night and chose a room with a band over a hotel bar, which is the best decision available to them and the one we are quietly proudest of hosting.
It is not a melancholy night. The hall is loud, cold and full, the sign over the stage says Las Vegas, and by the second set nobody is thinking about anything except the guitar solo. The Christmas hats come off at about nine. The Thai staff, for whom the night is a night, work it with more energy than the customers have, because a full hall on a Wednesday in December is a good night at work.
The one honest warning: it is the week the tables go earliest. From the twentieth to New Year the row along the stage edge is gone by seven on band nights, and by half past on the DJ nights, which normally have seats to spare. A group that wants to sit together on Christmas Eve should message the bar a day ahead. A couple should be at the gate when it opens, and will be rewarded with the coldest and quietest half hour of the week.