Part I: Turboprops and Parking Brakes

It finally happened. TD (I’ll call it “Thailand Tummy”). It settled in overnight with a sudden onset of abdominal cramps that jolted me awake. The symptoms returned with a vengeance again in the morning, accompanied by a wave of dry heaving. It was a fairly substantial physical setback, forcing me to skip my free breakfast to ensure I reached the airport on time.


The transit leg was handled via an uneventful journey on a Bangkok Airways ATR 72-200 turboprop. The airline owns three regional airports in Thailand, a brilliant business decision to maintain commercial monopoly on air travel between these popular destinations.


The subsequent transfer van to the pier, though, was packed with middle-aged American tourists. Fuck me. The emotional restraint required all of my limited energy. The tone of their individual and collective comments were so intensely disrespectful, condescending, and arrogant, I had to throw on rock music with my noise cancelling headphones to avoid a poor decision.


The ferry schedules are well synced around incoming flights, so luckily our waiting time at the pier was minimized. On the opposite shore, I was greeted by an older local driver operating an old, manual pickup truck branded with the resort logo.


As we pulled away from the curb, a gal around my age with very fresh ink of a large stallion on her right forearm flagged us down, stating she was a guest too. The driver stepped out of the cab to confirm her reservation and assist with her luggage, but he forgot to engage the vehicle's parking brake. The truck began rolling forward into the main street, but no worries… I’ve trained for this in a Cliffs of Moher parking lot.


Part II: Decisive Indecision

Naturally, we chatted the majority of the 25-min drive across the island. She recently sold her home in Perth, AUS and walked away from her career, launching herself into a journey of self-discovery, as well. Her itinerary included trekking through Nepal and completing an intensive, fully immersed 11-day meditation program, culminating in a nine-day retreat here. This felt validating as we headed to the same spot.


Finding this specific location was the result of my usual chronic indecision, relentless research (there are 50 developed islands in Thailand), and perfectionism. I spent weeks trying to curate a self-guided mental and physical health reset. Either every venue that matched my specific recovery criteria carried a bankrupting budget, or otherwise required concessions.


However, the arrival of early summer marks the official low season in Thailand. I stumbled across The Spa at Koh Chang on Booking.com, but instead searched the resort's direct website and found a significantly reduced rate, accompanied by their resonating philosophy:


“Low season is not a quieter time by accident. It is quieter because fewer people choose it. For those who do, the experience is different — more space, fewer distractions, and time that unfolds naturally. This period suits guests who plan ahead and prefer longer, unhurried stays.”


Management agreed to waive their standard 90-day advance booking window via email. I also negotiated a long-term agreement: I committed to a basic double room with breakfast for a guaranteed three-week block in exchange for a complimentary upgrade to a significantly more spacious and inviting layout (I’m glad I did - it is still far from large).


Part III: The Self-Guided Reset

The property markets itself heavily as an immersive detox retreat with highly structured, specialized wellness programs. I am intentionally bypassing the set routine to go à la carte.


The setting is exceptionally quiet, tranquil, and pleasantly shielded from the commercial development and backpacking community on the western side of the island. The property is wonderfully rustic and charming - quite stripped of high-end luxury pretension despite what the marketing photos and “resort” terminology imply. From what I gather, there are only 2 other rooms booked on the entire property, outside of me and Kirstie.


The Menu:

  • Cafe: A farm-to-table culinary layout featuring over four dozen fresh-pressed juices and wellness smoothies.
  • Daily Movement: Complimentary morning yoga, mobility stretching, and balance sessions, and occasional evening foam rolling sessions.
  • Heat Therapy: Unlimited access to a one-hour daily herbal steam bath. More on this to come.
  • Off-Site Transit and Activities: Scheduled group expeditions to local waterfalls, isolated beaches, and mountain trails. They also offered trips to 7-11, which I was not counting on.
  • Field Gear: Free daily access to kayaks and bicycles for short-distance regional exploration.


The on-site restaurant is pricey and lacks culinary variety, as it attempts to appeal to a broader demographic. I saw the prices in advance and budgeted accordingly. What I had not seen were the portion sizes. I am now scouring my options, which are not aplenty.


Part IV: The Interrogation

My solitary peace lasted exactly until dinner. I held down the dining room entirely alone for thirty minutes until a middle-aged woman walked up to the pavilion. She chose a table positioned far away from mine, but on her way to the washroom, she slowed her pace to stare me down with an intense, unblinking look while I typed on my iPad. Hm..


On her return trip, she stopped directly at my table to ask if I was a guest. We traded names (Andina) and occupation info. She is a watch designer from Singapore staying for a 3-week detox, having arrived just yesterday. The interaction shifted into a bizarre, aggressive series of financial questions with really no lead-in. As much as I try to paraphrase things here, see below for the near-verbatim:


Her: “what kind of room did you get?”
Me: “just one of the standard double rooms”
Her: “oh… how much did you pay for your room?”
Me: “Uhh, I’m not quite sure. I booked through the website [implying she can look it up]”
Her: “did you get the room with breakfast? “
Me: “yeah…”
Her: “Oh… How much are you paying for breakfast?”
Me: “Again, I don’t remember. It’s included with the room.”
Her: “How did you get here?
Me: “To Ko Chang? Airplane, taxi, and ferry.”
Her: “Oh, where you live?”
Me: “In the U.S.”
Her: “Oh, how did you come to Thailand?”
Me [resisting the urge to say airplane, taxi, and ferry again]: “I flew.”
Her: “How much was your plane ticket?”
Me: “Uhh, I don’t remember. I used points.”
Her: “Ohh…….    how many points did it cost?”
Me: “I’m not sure. I’d have to look it up.”
Her: “How do you get all your points?”
Me: “Well… I fly a lot.”


She then stated she felt uneasy by how quiet the empty resort felt, which was a great opportunity for me to reveal how excited I was for that. She finally dismissed herself, after noting it wasn’t this empty when she came at the beginning of the year. I couldn’t tell if she was oblivious to the concepts of high vs low season, but also lacked the energy to care.


Her hyperfixation on the financial investment felt incredibly strange for a first interaction. With my weekly online therapy session looming at 6:00 AM tomorrow, I retreated to my room shortly thereafter to escape. I prepped the space with some aromatherapy (lavender, ylang ylang, chamomile, and vertiver spray, since you’re wondering), dropped the climate control down, and treated myself to a lukewarm shower. And yes, they sell pillow mist at the front desk -  it’d be rude not to indulge.


Certainly, no amount of research and planning can curate a perfect experience. This is pretty damn close. But I have a feeling Andina will be an interesting situation…


No pix today.