"Sit Down, I Take Care of You"
The bowl of noodles that made me weep
Post-life cleanse at Aleenta, on Natai Beach, I spit myself out into Khok Kloi. It was close enough to the resort but far enough away to wean myself off of being taken care of 24/7 for a week straight, down to the tracking and consumption of water. It was tough. I learned quickly upon arrival the town was less than ideal for an American tourist—and essentially a traffic junction city for buses to route through from the North to the South. These 48 hours were some of the more lonely moments of my life as It had been eight days since I'd had a real conversation with someone who could completely understand me.
The B&B was charming, especially for $67 total for two nights. Baan Kamana was tucked away off the main street, and while minimalistic, was design-y, cozy, warming, clean, and felt like home.
I'd been on a strict eating schedule and I was getting hungry—only it was Sunday and the town was dead aside from 7-Eleven, a ton of weed shops, and KFC, which I was not about to f*ck with after eating clean for days—and I was too zen to dabble into my normal Curious George approach to traveling. I went to sleep hungry and emotional.
The next day I was determined to find something to eat and stumbled upon Khok Kloi Bami Tom Yam Khai in peak heat. Although the fans were buzzing at high speed the sweat was still dripping down my legs like I’d been drip-drying off from the pool. I sit down, drenched and squirrely. The manager looks at me and says, "Sit down, I take care of you," with a giant smile. I had no idea what was coming but I knew it would be more than satisfactory. It felt like I was back at Aleenta and it felt so safe. My body was aware it was lunchtime and I was there, at 12:30, unconsciously like clockwork. I look over at the condiment jars labeled, “happy,” “love,” and “lucky.” Yes to all three. Blessed I am.
A few minutes later a Thai iced tea and a bowl of Tom Yam noodles appeared. The noodle soup was an intensely delicious broth filled with soft minced pork, fishballs, pork liver, sliced char siu pork, tomatoes, wonton skin, soft-boiled egg, and the aesthetic star of the show, a beautiful bow-shaped fried wonton. It was sour and spicy and sweet and acidic from the lime. It brought me so much joy that it almost felt naughty after mostly eating the same thing for a week. Tears were trickling down my face; a combo of adding too much spice with a side of feeling emotions while eating again. “I’m backkkkkkk!,” I internally squeal.
The next day I went back for more around the same time only to find it closed. It was almost as if it never existed in the first place. I was sad as I wanted to experience that feeling once more—but as is life, sometimes you have to pocket and savor moments for what they were. I wandered over to a coffee shop I found on Google Maps called ARIYO slow life bar—a hip roadside coffee shop filled with locals buzzing by to and from work. I sip an americano with peach flavor slowly and listen to the tunes to pass the time. I was for lack of better words, ready to go—even though I was unsure of what I wanted down South.
That night I stopped at a fried chicken truck and ate well for $2. The chicken was perfectly fried and crispy, taking me on a memory lane to the gas station fried chicken days of my youth.
I found out the hard way that there was one taxi in town, Mr. Wimon, who luckily was en route back to Khok Kloi from Phuket. He drove me one hour to Panwa for $40 which seemed fair considering I’d pretty much do anything to leave this town.
During my life cleanse I’d decided to once again ditch dating apps in exchange for meeting people in the wild, only I’d forgotten about Bumble. It had been two years since I’d opened it and of course, there was a comment from an attractive Australian man with beautiful lips (it turns out he’s South African—a new variety to my portfolio of lovers). I roll my eyes at myself while smiling. Here we go again….
In my one-hour car ride down to Phuket we exchanged a somewhat normal conversation to the point of me thinking he was going to be boring. I’d decided to one-night-stand-him after we made loose plans. A couple of hours later I checked into a very unattractive, very canary-yellow-hued hotel on the beach in Panwa—where a giant, very depressed, very mangy teddy bear greeted guests at reception.
Against my normal rules, I allowed the South African to come to my hotel. He’d travel an hour in a taxi and that was enough chivalry for me for the day. Within five minutes of meeting, he asks, “Do you want to go get a massage?” Ooof. “What a jackass,” I was thinking to myself. How disturbing to ask a woman to go get a happy-ending massage. Little did he know that I’d laid down on a massage bed, oiled up, and massaged for no less than 10 hours in the last week. Little did I know that he’d hurt his back at the gym earlier.
Hours later I walked him to his taxi and said goodbye. I sent a text saying, “Who needs drugs when there’s insane sex?” I floated into bed that night wondering what the actual f*ck happened. As I mentioned above sometimes it’s necessary to savor moments for what they were—and sometimes life will shake you up and spit you out onto a pleasure island for an extended wild ride. There is a beginning and there is (kind of) an end but I just wanted to touch on the teary-eyed soup in this Substack.
To be continued….
xxJenn
Thinking of you in that March heat!!!!!!!!!!!
girrllllll