Professor Beach Explains Hua Hin
Why Some Beaches Become Places People Never Leave
There are people who study beaches, and then there is Professor Beach.
At least that is what everyone calls him. His actual name is Wally D. Ivers, although after forty years of wandering coastlines from Hawaii to Australia, from the Caribbean to the Mediterranean, and after publishing enough papers about sand, shorelines and coastal environments to fill a respectable library shelf, even he has largely surrendered to the nickname.
When I meet him in Hua Hin, he is seated beneath the shade of a beachfront restaurant near Khao Takiab, wearing a faded Panama hat that appears to have survived several decades of tropical climates. A notebook lies open beside him, although it remains untouched for most of our conversation. The sea is calm. Horse riders move slowly along the shoreline below. Somewhere beyond the temple hill, fishermen are preparing their boats for the evening tide.
The setting feels appropriate.
If anybody has earned the right to spend an afternoon contemplating beaches, it is probably Professor Beach.
The conversation begins with the question he claims to dislike most.
"Which beach is the best?"
He laughs before I have even finished asking.
"That question has followed me around the world for forty years," he says. "And every year I become slightly less capable of answering it."
Most people assume beach experts spend their lives measuring water quality, analysing sand composition or evaluating erosion patterns. Professor Beach has certainly done all those things. Yet listening to him for only a few minutes, it becomes clear that his real interest lies elsewhere.
He studies people.
Or more specifically, he studies why certain beaches become woven into people's lives.
"The funny thing is that visitors believe they choose beaches rationally," he says while watching a retired Scandinavian couple stroll past on the sand below. "They tell themselves it is because of the water quality, the scenery, the facilities or the accessibility. Then if you sit with them long enough, the real reasons eventually emerge."
One of his favourite examples concerns a wealthy American businessman he once interviewed in Hawaii. The man had purchased an extraordinary property overlooking one of the Pacific's most famous beaches and spent an hour explaining how carefully he had analysed every practical aspect of the location.
Two glasses of wine later the truth emerged.
The beach reminded him of somewhere his father had taken him as a child.
Professor Beach still smiles when recalling the story.
"That is how most beach decisions are made. We just invent more sophisticated explanations afterwards."
It is perhaps for this reason that he finds the coastline stretching from Dolphin Bay to Cha-am so fascinating. From a purely geographical perspective, it is not one beach but a collection of entirely different coastal personalities compressed into a relatively short distance. Within little more than an hour's drive one can move from mountain-backed wilderness to traditional fishing villages, from hidden coves to social promenades, from retirement communities to family holiday destinations.
Very few coastal regions offer such variety.
Even fewer manage to do so while remaining connected to real communities rather than becoming entirely dependent on tourism.
The professor's enthusiasm becomes particularly obvious when discussing Dolphin Bay.
His eyes brighten slightly, and for the first time during our conversation he leans forward in his chair.
"Now there is a beach that knows exactly what it wants to be."
He describes arriving there for the first time many years ago. The road wound through fishing villages, wetlands and stretches of countryside before suddenly opening onto a broad bay framed by the dramatic limestone mountains of Sam Roi Yot National Park. The sea appeared almost impossibly calm beneath the peaks, while long stretches of sand remained largely untouched by development.
What impressed him was not merely the scenery but the balance of the landscape itself.
"In many destinations the beach is the star and everything else serves as supporting cast," he explains. "At Dolphin Bay the mountains, the wetlands, the wildlife and the sea all participate equally. It feels less like visiting a beach and more like entering an entire ecosystem."
When he awarded Dolphin Bay perfect scores for Scenic Beauty, Natural Environment, Peace & Tranquility, Emotional Character and Uniqueness, he did so without hesitation. Those scores were not awarded because the beach is dramatic, although it certainly is. They were awarded because the place creates a rare feeling that modern travellers encounter less and less frequently: the sensation that nature remains in charge.
Yet despite its high ranking, Professor Beach is careful not to describe it as universally ideal.
Over the years he has met numerous retirees who rented houses there after falling in love with the scenery, only to discover that what they really wanted was not silence but company.
One Dutch couple, after six months surrounded by beautiful landscapes and abundant tranquillity, quietly relocated north.
"People assume they want peace until they discover they miss conversation," he says.
The couple eventually settled near Khao Takiab and have never regretted the move.
The story perfectly illustrates his broader philosophy.
The highest-scoring beach is not necessarily the best beach.
The highest-scoring beach is simply the beach that most successfully fulfils its own character.
Pak Nam Pran, for example, receives some of his warmest praise despite not dominating any single category.
Where Dolphin Bay is dramatic, Pak Nam Pran is balanced.
The broad coastline beneath Khao Kalok offers long walking routes, excellent cycling, growing café culture, attractive restaurants and a steadily expanding international community. Nothing feels forced. Nothing feels overdeveloped. The beach has matured gradually, retaining enough of its traditional character while quietly absorbing new influences.
"I call it the dangerous beach," Professor Beach says with a grin.
Why dangerous?
"Because people arrive for a weekend and start browsing property websites before Sunday lunch."
The pattern has repeated itself often enough to become predictable. Visitors discover they can cycle for kilometres along the beachfront, enjoy breakfast overlooking the sea, spend afternoons walking beneath casuarina trees and still remain within easy reach of Hua Hin's hospitals, restaurants and services.
The possibility of a different lifestyle suddenly becomes easier to imagine.
Sai Noi creates an entirely different reaction.
When discussing this small sheltered bay south of Khao Tao, Professor Beach abandons analysis altogether and begins speaking almost like a novelist. The beach itself is modest in size, yet somehow occupies a disproportionately large space in the memories of those who visit.
The enclosing hills create intimacy. The water remains calm. Small cafés overlook the bay. The entire setting feels protected from the outside world.
"I have never understood how such a small beach manages to leave such a large impression," he admits.
Then he tells the story of a Swiss couple who first encountered Sai Noi during an afternoon drive. Years later, after permanently relocating to Thailand, they still referred to it as "our beach" despite living half an hour away.
Some places seem capable of establishing emotional ownership after a single visit.
Sai Noi is one of them.
When our conversation eventually turns towards Khao Takiab, the professor becomes more reflective.
If Dolphin Bay represents nature and Sai Noi represents romance, Khao Takiab represents something perhaps even more valuable for people entering later stages of life.
Belonging.
Over countless mornings he has watched residents emerge from condominiums, villas and nearby neighbourhoods to walk along the beach. Some stop for coffee. Others continue towards the fishing harbour. Familiar faces greet one another. Conversations begin and end naturally. Plans for lunches, concerts, golf rounds and charity events emerge almost accidentally.
What strikes him is not the beauty of the individual components but the way they interact.
The temple hill provides identity. The restaurants provide meeting places. The beach provides movement. The community provides continuity.
Over time these elements combine into something larger than the sum of their parts.
"The older I become," he says quietly, "the less interested I am in beaches that impress me and the more interested I become in beaches that support a good life."
That distinction may explain why Khao Takiab repeatedly emerges as his preferred retirement beach.
Not because it possesses the most dramatic scenery.
Not because it achieves the highest scores.
But because it quietly enables the routines from which satisfying lives are often built.
The same reasoning helps explain his affection for Hua Hin Beach itself. Many visitors underestimate it because they evaluate it through the lens of tropical paradise. Yet from the perspective of daily living, the beach performs exceptionally well. Long uninterrupted walks, excellent accessibility, proximity to restaurants and cafés, historical character and a vibrant social atmosphere combine to create a shoreline that functions as a public living room for much of the town.
Meanwhile, Cha-am continues serving a role that many modern beach destinations have forgotten entirely. It remains a family beach. Grandparents, parents and children can all occupy the same stretch of sand and find something to enjoy. The atmosphere remains unpretentious, relaxed and unmistakably Thai.
As the afternoon gradually softens into evening, the conversation drifts away from individual beaches and towards a broader question.
Where does the Hua Hin coastline rank internationally?
The professor removes his glasses and studies the horizon for a moment before answering.
"People often compare beaches incorrectly," he says.
A beach might possess extraordinary scenery while offering little opportunity for community. Another might provide perfect swimming but limited long-term livability. Some beaches excel as holiday destinations yet fail as places where people would genuinely wish to spend years.
The coastline between Dolphin Bay and Cha-am succeeds because it offers choices.
A retiree seeking nature can find nature.
A retiree seeking community can find community.
A retiree seeking solitude, activity, romance, authenticity, family life or social engagement can find those as well.
The region may not contain the single most spectacular beach on Earth.
What it does contain is one of the most complete collections of retirement-oriented beaches he has encountered anywhere in the world.
As the sun begins sinking towards the horizon and the first evening lights appear around Khao Takiab, I ask him one final time whether he can identify the best beach.
He smiles.
After four decades of research, thousands of beach walks and more conversations than he can possibly remember, his answer has become remarkably simple.
"The truly great beaches are not the ones that make you want to visit," he says.
"They are the ones that quietly persuade you to stay."
Looking around at the retirees strolling along the shoreline, the families gathering for dinner and the familiar faces greeting one another beneath the fading light, it is difficult not to think that a remarkable number of people have already found exactly that beach somewhere along this coast.
