Part I: The Private Coach
The resort recently had added a table tennis setup to their activity area, and it officially became my surprise daily routine. Naturally, Mod was talented with a paddle, as well. I hadn't played with any regularity since I was eighteen or nineteen at Cochise College, and the rust was real.
We worked up a massive sweat in the heat; puddles formed at my feet, and I started bringing a second outfit to change into after the preceding activity (typically Muay Thai or dynamic Brain & Body coordination). He was beating me by an absolute landslide each set, but I grew quite an affinity for it. Table tennis was the perfect sport for an ADHD brain: It was fast-paced, with a requirement to lunge, shuffle, and capitalize on what remained of my hand-eye coordination. I was almost always moving, thinking, and reacting, with very little waiting around, keeping things interesting and providing instant feedback on what worked and what didn’t.
While my brain was slowly beginning to formulate some semblance of strategic intentions, it was no surprise that clueless technique coupled with a 17-year hiatus left their successful execution on the table (pun intended). Ironically, my complete lack of technical skill worked entirely to my advantage. I weaponized my incompetence; Mod tried to watch my hand and body movements to predict where the ball was going. Subsequently, he was both confused and surprised as often as I.
I was highly suspicious that he was going a bit easy on me. Still, this morphed into a mandatory daily routine, my performance sharpened day by day, and I came to thoroughly enjoy the chaos of it. I was determined to take at least one set off him before I checked out. I had exactly four days left for redemption.
Part II: The Coffee
Mod and I officially took our rapport offsite, visiting five different coffee shops scattered across the island. Every single trek required wheels.
During our commutes, we conversed about sports and his business. It turned out he and his brother owned a manufacturing factory near Bangkok that produced plastic to-go cups for commercial coffee shops. He managed over seventy major accounts across Thailand, producing roughly 10,000 cups per day, including several active clients right here on Koh Chang.
The density of the coffee scene on this island was unfathomable. There were an estimated 50+ independent coffee shops operating across an eighty-square-mile landmass, nearly seventy percent of which was completely covered by dense, protected forest.
There were boutique coffee shops bloody everywhere… naturally with the single ironic exception of the immediate walking radius of our hotel. The coffee here was strong, sharing a flavor profile closely akin to a traditional Turkish brew. It was a heavy density with a rich, almost velvet mouthfeel. Its flavor profile featured an intense dark chocolate and roasted earth baseline, completely absent of Western acidity. It appeared that, in recent years, there had been a movement to elevate the experience through chic, boutique architecture and unusual infusions of fresh coconut, pineapple, orange, and lime.
The views from some of our visits offered quintessential island vibes. Nothing breathtakingly spectacular, but endless palm trees, a pale blue ocean, and the occasional hawk-eagle cutting through the thermal currents.
Sitting on a terrace overlooking a massive canopy of palm trees and a pale blue ocean, I found my shoulders relaxing a bit as geckos, butterflies, and Tailorbirds drifted in and out. I watched a tiny, intricate butterfly land directly on the top of my bare foot. Its wings pulsed rhythmically against my skin, light as a feather. Something felt symbolic, like a profound sign of grounding and fresh reset. Though, as I leaned into the comfort of that thought, my background forced me to admit that this elegant creature didn't care about my spiritual awakening; it likely just viewed my sweaty foot as a sodium buffet.
Part III: The Ghost
Every Thursday, resort guests are invited to join the owner's son, Poon, for a walk and jog combination with his highly energetic two-year-old Boxer named Yon. Poon's background was fascinating. His wife, Gina, manages the day-to-day at the resort, while Poon's job is to keep her happy and study traditional Thai medicine in Bangkok on weekends.
He wants to eventually restructure the entire resort into a comprehensive, holistic wellness clinic. During our trek, he asked how my stay was progressing. I told him everything was perfect, with the one exception of my unidentified nocturnal roommate scratching behind my headboard.
Poon was profoundly apologetic and immediately offered yet another upgrade to a hilltop Villa. I enthusiastically accepted; however, I traded a phantom rodent for a mosquito net that featured enough ventilation holes to welcome a radical insect convention each night. I sealed these with leftover athletic tape from my toe.
Part IV: The Ice-Breaker
The following evening, I finally connected with another long-term guest who paralleled most of my stay, but largely kept to himself. He was an older Australian male who had been essentially homeless for twelve years, traveling the planet nonstop as an online blogger, content creator, and photographer. He claimed to have set foot in 190 countries. I believed him. The granularity of the stories he told would be difficult to manufacture, including a deeply detailed account of navigating Antarctica and the Falkland Islands. Until recently, our interaction was strictly limited to in-passing: periodic, guarded head nods while wandering the property or being seated for dinner. However, my recent 6 AM dog-walking expedition with Poon gave me some info I could use as an entry point:
"Hey, my name is Chris," I said, introducing myself. "Poon tells me you're a frequent visitor over here."
It was all I needed to open a floodgate of history. It turned out he had been migrating to the resort annually since 2008, and recently every six months, specifically to undergo a full system detox and weight loss program. He departed the next day, which was a slight bummer; I could have easily sat and listened to his stories all day (though, from an impulsivity standpoint, this may have been for the best). We chatted a bit through the pros and cons of that lifestyle, which was fascinating to uncover.
