When I remember Phuket, I remember a constant temperature of 88 degrees with wet-bulb conditions fit to baste a turkey; I remember the endless sunset across the Andaman sea; and of course I remember Christa petting stray animals.

Of course, Phuket was also notable for having the most Cyrillic signage I’ve seen outside of eastern Europe. We had our local bakery, Chekov’s, and our local coffee shop, Turgenev’s. See here. People had told us there were a lot of Russian expats there (which I can’t blame them), but we didn’t expect to be the only English-speakers on the Island. But we made do.

The Great Zone-In

Our first month in Karon we dedicated ourselves to a simple monastic lifestyle originated by Michael Paul “The Situation” Sorrentino of Jersey Shore fame: G.T.L. Gym. Tan. Laundry. Every morning began the same: walking down the hill to get our twelve liters of water from the pump, then trudging up the hill with them:

After that we would work, then go to the gym. Then hit the pool. Then go to the beach. Sunscreen optional. It was the healthiest of times, it was the sickest of times.

The walk back in the afternoon was the same every time: the shops along the street alternated between weed shops and massage parlors and along the entrances to the parlors a gang of woman would sit in the shade in their bright uniforms and call out ‘Massage! Massage!’ very much like a chorus in the Ancient Greek Theatre. You may not believe me, but it is true. An endless line of tuk-tuk’s parked along the road provided cool dark shade to the drivers napping in the bed. ‘Tuk-Tuk-Tuk-Tuk,’ they would call out hypnotically, and you could never be certain if they were propositioning for business or dreamily calling out the last words they remembered.

I found myself without too much to say or write about at that time. As newlyweds, we weren’t exactly the target audience for a Thailand vacation, and my reports are about 80% thinner but with much less regret (and emergency medication) than most others. This lifestyle of getting super swole and turning into raisins could have continued indefinitely were it not for an entirely predictable problem: we discovered you could get big boys of beer for $3 at every pub and play pool for free. And so, Icarus fell.

Scoot-Scoot and Phuket Town:

Our second to last weekend we rented a scooter and tooled around. Only Christa knows how to drive a scooter (remember this: it will come back in the next dispatch… -Ed.) so I rode princess the whole time. It was pretty fun. The end of the day we stopped at a bar built as a ship-hull into the side of a cliff in the middle of nowhere. It was run by these two old gay rastas (reggae being oddly huge in Thailand…perhaps it’s the legal weed?). We ate peanuts with them and drank $3 beers and stared across the sea into the endless west. Almost all of our trip has been staring into the endless west, yet it doesn’t get old.

The next day we took a trip to Phuket town to see some old Portuguese architecture and chill with some monkeys and eat curry. Thailand was a paradise in its own way. We accomplished all these things by 3pm and then we thought we might have a cigar. Christa, having been trapped her whole life in that massive open-air prison called America, had never had a Cuban. Now, while I know some that would push back against this (and they’re wrong… -Ed.), Cuban cigars are just better. So I looked up a cigar cafe and that….that is when I found it. The Capybara Cafe.

While it has not been mentioned upon this blog before, Christa and I have fetishized the Noble Capybara for some time. It is one of Gods’ few creations without error. And here it was, thousands of miles from Brazil where the beautiful Capybara is wont to roam, and right across the street from the cigar lounge. Double. Header. We set off. The capybara’s were up first, and yes we paid too much money. Behold:

After that we went across the street, necked some whiskey and a few cigars, and headed back under the warm moonlight to Karon. And yes, on a side by side comparison, Cubans are better. Christa agrees.

Once More Unto the Breach:

The last weekend we went up north to Patong Beach, known for being a particularly invigorating spot for the central pillars of Thailand’s economy. Yep.

Yep.

We stopped off at an Irish bar (I have yet to find a country without one, there will be more about this, and I expect when we land on Mars we’ll find one pre-built there), and then went down the walking street:

We stopped in at a little gem afterward, where I was swarmed by some very talkative young women. The Madame called the girls off me when I made it clear Christa and I weren’t that far along in our marriage, and hung out with us for a little while. Nice lady. Only knew Chicago and Los Angeles, so we said Chicago. Didn’t want to give the wrong impression. After that we headed back and packed up. Overall, we’d both lost 6 or 7 lb.’s and got super tan. Icarus be damned. After that, we were headed across the bay to Ao Nang to see islands, monitor lizards, Christa’s persistent attempts to get rabies from strange animals, and culinary adventures ranging from emergency lentils to the Last Texas BBQ.

Next up: Krabi, unlikely friendships, and Beyond Thunderdome.