Monday, December 14, 2015,
Today we were leaving the lovely Nikki Beach Resort and heading over to Koh Tao via ferry. After a killer day on the water and unleashing our brand of Sunday Funday on the island, we had done what we came to do on Samui. We had a mellow morning lounging around and getting packed for our ferry. Apparently I had unknowingly bought us tickets on the “people of Walmart” ferry, because the nautical patrons were ripe for shit talking. There was, for example, my first real-life sighting of the elusive “Jomper”. Yes, that’s right, a denim romper, in the flesh. This Jean Queen was promptly dethroned by the far-to-common “Braided Beast”. That particularly odd brand of woman who willingly pays to have her white-girl hair braided while on vacation because she thinks….well now I don’t actually know what she was thinking. Apparently there is a serious lack of education in this world around the hair braiding epidemic. Especially in underdeveloped countries. So allow me to educate the masses: unless you are 10 years old or younger, you should not be getting your hair braided on vacation. I personally wouldn’t let my 10 year-old do that, but I’m not here to criticize your parenting choices. Oh wait, I totally am. In all fairness, I must admit that I once had my hair braided on a trip to Mexico when when I was a kid – but only halfway down my head. And I hated it. Okay fine, I was actually 15. I also had bangs and a perm at various points in my life so the hair decision making skills of my youth were obviously flawed. The best part of the grown-woman-braid situation was that an entire chuck of hair had either been missed, or fallen out of its misguided braided bliss. The result was a hot mess of woman. Did I mention that her PDA with her travel boo was OUT OF CONTROL? I would have rather seen the Jean Queen get down right in front of me that witness these toothless wonders going at it. Don’t worry – I got pics. You’re welcome.
After the oddly entertaining hour and a half ferry ride, we arrived in Koh Tao to a sign with our name on it. Another couple was being picked up by the same hotel with us. We couldn’t all fit in the extended cab of the truck, so the couple took it upon themselves ram through us in an effort to take the seats in air conditioning, leaving us to hop in the truck bed. Not that I mind the truck bed – but this is exactly the kind of entitled bullshit that couples do all the time without even knowing it. Because people in couples think they are better than single people. But that’s ok, because I think most people in couples are insecure ass holes who are disappointed they didn’t hold out for better but terrified to be alone. So I guess we’ll call it even. Upon check-in we were given bags of freshly popped popcorn. I fucking love popcorn. Score one for Koh Tao Cabana! We were promptly shown to our bad ass two-bed, two-bath villa on the beach. It basically looks like Pocahontas and Swiss Family Robinson had a baby in the form of ocean front property. Indoor/outdoor living at it’s finest. I must say, I am killing it on the hotel front over here. Single ladies for the win. The couple with no manners sure as shit wasn’t checking into the villa section of the resort. If I settled in life for a dude with no manners like that girl, he sure as shit better be able to pay for a villa on the beach.
We went down to check out the beach, where we had an odd run-in with the staff not wanting to give us towels or pads for our lounge chairs because “it’s going to rain in 10 minutes”. Soooooo, we sat their for ten minutes until the staff realized (1) it wasn’t raining and (2) we weren’t giving up, at which point they relented and gave us towels and chair pads. I decide to chalk this one up to a language barrier. Most because I have no clue what the fuck was going on. I guess you can’t always have the Nikki Beach staff following you around with champagne everywhere you go. Life is so unfair sometimes.
We headed into town to have a look around, get massages and dinner. We found a spa that looked to be up to our bougie backpacker standards so we booked three massages for tomorrow night, as they were booked up until 9pm. And y’all know we’ll be in bed by 9pm. We decided to just settle for one of the mediocre looking massage parlors with a bunch of surly Thai women on staff ready to unleash their torture on tourists. Let’s take a detour and discuss the thai massage parlor situation. Because it’s a little different than getting a massage stateside. And no, I don’t mean because they offer happy endings (we were not in that part of town anyway…). For one, they make you change into the most awful outfit you have every seen in your life. As Jorgie described it, we looked like we were getting ready to be ushered into a concentration camp. A beige button down loose fitting shirt, paired with GIANT brown cotton pants, none of which have a working elastic drawstring. The result: We looked like Communist chic post-gastric bypass patients leaving in the same outfits we arrived in. Second, there are no holes to put your head in when lying on your front. Anyone that gets massages on the regular knows the hole for your head is key to life’s existence. It protects the neck and keeps everything level. Well, almost everything. Personally, I think they need holes for your boobs too, because the well endowed woman can get a little off-kilter during a massage trying to balance around on those things. Can I get a “hell yeah” from the big tittie committee? Too much information? Third, you are generally in a big room with lots of other people. And glass windows – just in case people being walked on while looking like prison inmates is your brand of kinky, the show is free! No private massage rooms when you are paying $8 a hour.
The massage parlor we were at must have had their masseuses on loan from the nail salon, because those bitches would not shut the fuck up the entire time. Leave it to us to stumble upon the damn Joy Luck Club while trying to get a massage. And I highly doubt they were talking about how “pre-tay” we are. I think the convo was more like “I wonder if these three are lesbians?…[giggling]”. I left feeling like I just got the shit kicked out of me by that woman’s elbow. Not exactly the Nikki Beach massage experience I raved about the other day.
We settled on an Indian restaurant for dinner…because when do the three of us ever go anywhere an not get Indian? Ever the menu whores, we ordered way too much food and stuffed ourselves into a food coma. We were back to the room in bed nice and early, per usual. And good thing, because we had quite the Tuesday….
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Boat Day!!!!!!!! You didn’t think I was leaving this island before getting on a boat, did you? First things first. I actually woke up and went on a run on the beach. In Thailand. In December. I was sweating more than a Muay Thai heavyweight running from a pack of rabid lady boys. It was disgusting. I think the early morning group of scuba divers down the beach was concerned I might be having a heat stroke. This is exactly why I don’t own a gym membership. I was cursed with genes that do not allow me to wear a full face of makeup to the gym or run on a treadmill with my hair down. And that qualifies you for automatic Wench status at the gyms of Los Angeles. Jillian Michaels doesn’t judge me from my living room, so I’ll stick with that. We then had our hotel breakfast in the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse dining room. I am a sucker for anything that even remotely resembles a tree house. It was awesome.
We rented some snorkel gear from the front desk and I headed out to the beach to negotiate a long tail boat for the day. I had already suffered through one group boat tour on the trip, it was high time for a private boat day. The woman pimping out the boats was fun and good natured. I got her down 500 baht and felt I had done my negotiating duty. I also scored the longtail with the best sun protection (not for me, obviously, but our fair skinned Jorgie burns faster than you can say “Snow White”). After grabbing some beers from the hotel restaurant, we were off by 9am, just as planned. I just love when things go accordingly to plan.
What ensued over the next 7 hours was a mix of drinking beers, floating, snorkeling, and dancing to tunes from the jammy pack as our Thai boat driver laughed at us. Snorkeling highlights: (1) We saw the biggest jelly fish ever (pic below) at which point we promptly requested to move to a different snorkel site, cause ain’t nobody got time for jellyfish stings on vacation. (2) I saw three sharks. Or one shark three times. At which point we swam back to the boat very quickly because I was starting to think he was circling. And if anyone is going to be mistaken for a defenseless seal, it’s this bitch. (3) I saw and eel. And then I screamed. They are so fucking gross.
Now, it took a few hours, but our driver finally caught on to the fact that we like to keep the whole “snorkeling” thing at a minimum on our snorkel tours. We instead prefer to float in the water while drinking beer and listening to country music. We are basically the Red Neck Yacht Club’s international diplomatic convoy. We are the kind of group that tour guide’s dream about. We don’t complain (unless you take me to jellyfish infested waters), we ask very few questions, we bring everything we need for the day (read: beer and music) and we just fucking sit there and get drunk. After which we are super fun to be around. Or obnoxious, depending on your outlook on loud drunk chicks. Actually, we did make one request during the day: we ran out of beer. So we asked our driver to take us to shore somewhere we were re-stock. He told us that there was no place to buy beer – the restaurant that is usually open on the other side of the island is closed this time of year. Refusing to accept defeat, we saw some people laying around at a shitty looking hotel across the bay. And where there are people on vacation, it usually follows that there is beer. So we drove over to investigate. Score! Nine more beers for the drunk American girls please, and make it snappy! Re-stocked, we made our way over to Koh Nang-Yuan Island off the coast of Koh Tao. It was a little crowded, so we perched our shit (jammy pack and beers) on a rock and did what we do best. Not a fucking thing. A great end to a great boat day!
Back at our hotel, we demolished some room service snacks, showered and readied ourselves for our 5pm massages at the bougie spa. Upon arrival, we changed into our favorite Thai women’s prison inmate frocks. And then we hit the massage jackpot! The massages today were a whole $3 more expensive than the shitty ones we got yesterday. Best. Three. Dollars. Ever. Spent. Turns out, you really do get what you pay for. Before leaving, we booked a massage with Larry, Curly and Moe for the next night. We even sprang for the 90 minutes. Big spenders!
Today we were eating street food for dinner! Finally. I know, I know…I can’t believe it’s taken us this long either. We found a beach bar with some bean bag chairs and settled in with some drinks. There is a wonderful little thing at bars in Thailand called the “bucket”. It is basically a small plastic children’s beach toy bucket, but instead of sand, it is filled with your choice of booze and mixer. It’s basically like the Sharkeez “shark-attack” goblet, minus the roofies. You Hermosa Beach peeps know what I’m talking about…don’t act like you don’t. Anyway, its fucking blissful. We grabbed some kebobs and pad thai from a street cart and settled in for some culinary bliss. I’m not gonna lie. It was pretty disappointing. I’ve had better pad thai from Trader Ming. We are hoping we just made a bad cart decision and fully intend to give the street food another try. After our mediocre dinner in which we through caution to the wind and disrespected every food safety standard there is, the girls were not feeling so hot. So we headed back to the hotel for an early night.
Tomorrow: a lazy day on Koh Tao. And a mystery ankle injury. Hey, I lasted a week this time…