Part I: The Rhythm of the Magpie
I am settling in, learning the layout, daily routines, local etiquette, and the on-site resort staff. "Good morning" and a wave hello are now standard with most of the faces I see day to day. My template is stabilizing into a predictable routine of stretching, mobility protocols, and resistance band work.
That schedule was briefly interrupted today when a new bird call echoed near my accommodation. *HOLD ON… I hear a bird. A new bird! Be right back…*
Merlin finally came through! Apparently the Oriental Magpie-Robin can seduce the app with its melodic, whistling churr. If only I could have seen it, but at least proof exists and is not a figment of my imagination.
Part II: Field Trip
Monday was dedicated to an excursion to White Sand Beach, on the much more tourist-focused strip on the west side that stretches fifteen kilometers south toward the backpacker-infiltrated hub of Lonely Beach. The resort shuttle departs at noon for the thirty-five minute ride, leaving a 2.5 hour recess before heading back
Kirstie and Andina (formerly Ms. Singapore) joined the transit, though we parted ways at drop-off. In pursuit of more affordable dining and alternative bodywork, my basic Thai was a linguistic disaster, but the clinical note from my Bangkok physio immediately provided the necessary translation. The practitioner was excellent - she maintained targeted pressure without the axillary assault. Over a cheap lunch, Kirstie and I explored themes of the psychology of travel, cultural competence, self-discovery, and nonconformity. By now, I’m sure you’re noticing a conversational pattern.
Part III: Island Time
I returned just in time to take advantage of the final afternoon herbal steam session, which was added to accommodate a holiday influx of domestic guests. In reality, I should have skipped the session to rest, but even ADHD meds do not save me from impulsivity.
On Tuesday morning, I abandoned my 8:00 AM mobility class to remain in bed while tropical rain hit the roof, generating a soothing white noise as light bled through the curtains. Bed just felt so damn nice, and while I remain committed to putting work in, afternoon sounded nicer. My back was locked up and my body felt stiffer than a corpse, inviting a much slower start to the day.
Following a hot shower and a raw breakfast of salad greens, watermelon, cantaloupe, mangosteen, and lychee, I booked a thirty-minute massage, explicitly instructing the practitioner that there would be absolutely no armpit work. She understood the assignment, focusing directly on my piriformis, gluteus medius, paraspinals, and TFL.
She remains amused as she continues to discover my dysfunctional mobility and tissue quality, but it marked a win, nonetheless. I immediately followed the treatment with thirty minutes of targeted nerve glides and flexibility work inside my air-conditioned room, closing things off with a midday steam and pool session.
Part IV: The Mysterious Steam Bar
A new German family of five checked into the resort, and three of them occupied the steam room when I arrived. The mother and daughter exited early, leaving the father and me to share the small thermal space.
My resting heart rate hovered in the mid to high 70s as I realized the room temperature was significantly higher than my previous session. Attempting box breathing became an exercise in drowning external distractions, as my companion shifted constantly and wiped sweat for fifteen consecutive minutes. “Breathe in nose, breathe out mouth,” I reminded myself, attempting to redirect my frequently wandering attention.
Our eyes eventually locked as he held up a mysterious rectangular block from a nearby shelf, asking in a thick northern German accent, "You seem to know what you’re doing here, what this is for?" I chuckled, stating I had absolutely no clue what I was doing or what the block was for, though we laughed together at its resemblance to a mysterious bar of soap.
By The Numbers
- Resting Meditation HR: Stable between 74 - 82 BPM during quiet, self-directed box breathing.
- Conversational: Heart rate spiked to an uncharacteristic 123 BPM the moment our conversation shifted to U.S. wellness routines, healthcare costs, and tipping culture.
We exited to cool down in the saltwater pool, where he shared his bewilderment regarding the extreme hidden costs of a prior trip to Hawaii (lured, of course, by cheap airfares). We at least reveled in the fact that we could all thoroughly relax within the economic safeguard of Thailand for the remainder of our trips.
Part V: A Private Blessing and Culinary Mistake
Tuesday, I signed up for a local temple excursion down the road, which transformed into a private tour when the other guests canceled. Despite it being his day off, the main driver took the helm, while one of the PM receptionists acted as my dedicated cultural guide. She is a young native of the Trang region, the exact geographic area where Chris Montgomery previously taught. She guided me through the small temple grounds, detailed the history of the Buddha, and took me for a formal spiritual blessing by a resident monk.
On the return trip, we made an inventory stop at a local 7-Eleven where I hoarded water reserves, sweetened soy milk, bottled iced teas, nuts, mochi, fiber supplements, and a small collection of local craft beers at half the resort retail cost.
I closed out the afternoon by taking my first true photographic stroll through the resort grounds, at odds between the aesthetic benefits of balanced lighting and serving as the buffet spread for the mozzies.
Addendum: Y'all, mistakes have been made. I ordered Tom Kha Gai for dinner (coconut cream spicy soup), and asked for it spicy. When the cook came by and asked if it was spicy, I lacked the adequate Thai to say, "Yeah, it has the essence of spice and contains an acceptable amount of heat to where I can likely handle a little bit more, but satisfies a craving." I panicked. I said “not spicy.” She just smiled.
Pray for me.
