Ah yes. Now this is what I call vacation. Waking up from our little beach bungalow, stumbling out to the sand, and setting up camp for the day. Agenda item #1: soak up some sun and lots of it. Supplies needed: 2 beach towels and SPF 8, 15, 30, 55, and 70 (I'll let you guess who used which). Agenda item #2: massages. Thai massages. On the beach. Supplies needed: 300 Thai baht ($10).
Neither of us had never had a Thai massage. They say they have a lot of health benefits and I can see why. It was amazing. Granted, at times it can feel like you're getting the shit kicked out of you by a small bony child, but afterward, you feel pretty awesome. It's actually lot like yoga (or hot yoga if you're on the beach!), only better: you don't have to do any of the work. (Note to self: explore insurance coverage and PATH fitness reimbursement for Thai massages when back home) And so, it quickly became a daily necessity for both of us. "What should we do now?" "I know! Thai massage!"
After feeling sufficiently loose (Uh yeah, that's what she said) and nice and crispy (don't worry it evens out into a nice tan later), we decided to head into town. $7 and a ride in the back of a pickup truck ("songathew" or something like that) later, we were in town ( also known as a busier area of the beach). After shopping a bit ("you know, Sara, we only brought our backpacks to the island...."), we found what looked to be a happening little spot on the beach for dinner. And happening it was! Complete with a live band and fire dancers. Music and half-naked men about to play with fire (funny, this was exactly agenda item # 3...), excellent!
Now this brings me to important Asia observation #836 (also known as random rant warning): what is wrong with the music here? Most of the time you just hear some horrible rendition of a 1980s flashback tune (Richard Marx seems to be a favorite) arranged for a saxophone solo with a keyboard backup. But tonight we got a special treat: a Jamaican-Thai cover band playing a range of American classics. And by classics, I mean Shakira, Usher, Jason Mraz... From the performance, Megan and I gathered that we could def make it as musicians here. Talent doesn't seem to be a requirement. (Ian, Alisa, Mark, and Norman: you woulda had a heyday here... And then you woulda needed some quality time with Bob, Ryan, and the Beatles to wash it all away). Anyway, when we've done all that we can do at PATH, we will call on a few of you to join us in our musical endeavor (no auditions necessary).
When the band announced that it was their last song and that the fire dancers were up next, we cheered a silent cheer. And then when I saw these fire dancers, I all but jumped off my beach mat in excitement. The previous night we had seen a group of 3 boys fire dancing on the beach near our place. And by boys I mean like 6 year olds (apparently male responsibility with fire starts at a younger age here than at home). But these were no 6 year olds. Oh no, these were men, like 10 men. And we had a front seat. Hello boys (er, I mean men), come to Mama!
On our way back to our beach bungalow, we decided to make a quick stop at Naga bar to see if our friends, Andy and Lina, from our trip over were out and about. Sadly they were not (and we quickly said a little prayer in hopes that they were not at the local hospital stitching up yet another piece of cute little Lina). However, we did find something equally ad entertaining: a buy-one-ge-one-free happy hour and Connect Four. Now while neither of us had played Connect Four in years, this was the second night in a row that the game was presented to us. Who knew the game was so popular in Thailand!?! And so while I thoroughly enjoyed the happy hour special (a margarita or two would surely cool me down from fire show), Megan thoroughly had her ass handed to her by a bartender who had clearly perfected his Connect Four strategy.
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