Part I: Unintentional
As I walked up to the open-air pavilion for my treatment, Kirstie was just finishing her session. She immediately warned me about the intensity of the therapist, noting that the woman had spent an alarming amount of time fixated directly on her armpit. I know she signed up for a different treatment, but appreciated the review and agreed that if a stomach massage somehow migrated into my armpits, I would be concerned, as well.
She was not joking on the pressure, though. The therapist wasted absolutely no time digging her hands directly into the periphery of what used to be functioning muscle tissue. Throughout the entire process, she continually mumbled to herself in Thai, followed by intermittent “oooh,” “ohhh,” “hmmm,” “mmhmmmm,” and ticking noises.
When she eventually discovered my infamous hip flexors, she openly broke out into laughter. Not much later, she migrated up to my anterior and posterior neck muscles, paused in disbelief, and exclaimed in Thai that I need to be here again tomorrow. And every day after. I shared her amusement, agreed, and realized it was a very good thing I had not anticipated a relaxing day at the spa.
Part II: The Ghost of Google Maps
My primary evening objective was to scout out a nearby roadside dining stall, a tiny establishment along the one main road of the east side of the island. It consists of just six wooden tables located a short six-minute walk from the resort property. Google Maps implied a 6:00 PM closing time, and I arrived at 5:30 PM.
I do know better than to rely on the accuracy of such things - Thailand is a country that largely runs on vibes and whims, more so than a clock (including even air travel, apparently). An older man was scurrying around the dining area, and I attempted to politely ask in Thai if I could sit down to eat. He snapped back with a sharp, immediate refusal, crossed his forearms into a rigid X to signify they’re closed.
He turned his back away from me to continue cleaning. I tried one final follow-up, asking if he would be open tomorrow. Without looking up or breaking his stride, his back still turned, he muttered a single confirmation. It was far from the warmest hospitality welcome I have ever received on my travels, but will try again tomorrow. Back to the hotel for another 300-Baht dinner.
Part III: The Spice Threshold
I ordered a bowl of Tom Yum Goong - the classic Thai staple hot and sour shrimp soup - with a side of steamed rice. The reality of the resort restaurant is that, while the dishes are consistently flavorful, they are intentionally prepared with absolutely zero baseline spice to cater to western palettes.
I explicitly requested my soup to be prepared “ped maak,” meaning very spicy, and watched with high expectations as the cook brought the steaming bowl to my table. Anticipating another sweat-inducing meal (who needs a steam bath?), I ordered a large, cold Chang beer ahead of time to counter the impending capsaicin burn.
Unfortunately, this kitchen is simply not a street vendor. I’ll give it a two-star on the heat index - enough to satisfy, but clearly still some potential. A few chilies floated in the broth, but unlike somtam,they are left intact rather than ground into a paste, thus minimal spice actually escaped.
I still have 18 days left to prove my worth to the kitchen staff. Then again, before my ego gets the absolute best of me, I recognize that they equally have eighteen days to ultimately prove who is boss, and I know who will win if I don’t tread carefully.
