A Day of Gluttony

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Indeed! If you are choosing your sleeping quarters by the pretty-ness of the beach, how expansive the pool is and how many bars are located within the compound, which I totally was for this little side trip, a vacation from our vacation, duh, then this place takes the cake!! A day of literally doing nothing except swimming, eating and most importantly drinking. First off, it's super cool that there are no cars or roads on Phi Phi and it is only accessable by boat. Same reason I was attracted to Caye Caulker in Belize. Flip flops are optional, along with shirts for men (we are still in a Buddhist society, they frown upon that for woman, I wish they would for men too in some cases) and the fact you can walk everywhere with an adult bevvie in hand is encouraged, Sweet!! There are a few motorized vehicles to my surprise here, one being this huge tractor/land/water/beast of sorts that has tires bigger than a midget (or little person, sorry that slipped) that can drive in and thru water...which it did yesterday to pick us up out in the bay when it was low tide and our boat could go no further. We also witnessed the occasional golf cart...old people will be old people, we cannot deny them their last wishes, if they want to continue to drive crazily even on an island that does not offer roads, I will not be the one to object, I say "Go Granny Go" secretly keeping her score as she nudges boulders, skims dogs and most of all scaring little unassuming children.
So after I have paraded Shaun all throughout Thailand for the last 3 weeks, he had given me yet another one of his looks that says "Babe, we have done everything you wanted on this trip whether you asked my input or not, I just want one day where we do what I want, which happens to be nothing." Luckily for Shaun, I like to do what he considers as "nothing". We had our swimsuits on by 10am, in the water by 10:05, happily drifting from Sea to Pool and back again, and Happy Hour started around noonish. (Give or take, I do think it was in the pm of the day though) The best part of this Happy Hour was we siddled up to the pool bar, had a huge over view of the place that was perfect for people watching...(which by the way I really don't understand why they call it "people watching" when really it is "people judging", not to lessen the fact that it is so fun, and later in the post I hope to have a huge list of what I saw today, aka my judgements) and we chatted with the bartender on his queries of California, and if we like it there, if there were Thai people there, what do the Thai people do in California, do you drive in California, is it crazy there, etc. (See Shaunee's post where he exposes another of my lies that we live in California, not Oregon, whatever, it's just easier to lie)
We did what all the other white people did on this island, ordered cheesburgers for lunch (our first even remotely Western meal so far)and some frothy frozen drink with rum all for the outrageous price of about $50...that did not include the pool bar tab, which was much bigger but there were no useless calories of food intake to get in the way of our more important obvious Singha deprivation. Which we finally found out that Singha makes a Light beer, Sweet, even better...a guiltless pleasure! We also did not talk, make eye contact or come remotely near any other white people today...the feeling was mutual. I think none of us wanted to validate that yes, we were in Thailand, but no, this was not really what Thailand was like, and if you recognize me and tell anyone that you saw me here, I will deny it! Previous comments on this subject can be found in prior posts where I am quick to judge anyone who does this type of vacation-ing, but yet, here I am, in a paradise that was clearly at least 50% man-made, 5,500 miles from home in a country that I have never been to before, soaking up the sun with a bunch of non-Thai people, eating non-Thai food, hahaha...alas drinking Thai beer! Whatever, it was like 36 hours of our 5 week trip and yes, it was amazing, and beautiful, and sterile and very Vegas like if they ever try to re-create Thailand as a casino, and finally yes, I was glad to leave, tomorrow, not today of course.
But not a moment before I was able to confirm the popularity of the effing Speedo and it's more modern counterpart, the man spandex version of booty shorts. I was forced into so many of these mens' personnal lives that I have now seen more balls in 2009 than I did in 07-08 combined. Either these woman that accompany these men enjoy "the look" or do not have their own "balls" to refuse to be seen with them in public. ("these woman" means... 20 something, blonde, big boobs, clearly not interested in the man for their personnality, and "these men" means... 50 something, bald, over weight, loud mouth, saggy balls that they are not ready to admit they have but clearly have no problem shoving them into spandex for everyone to decipher what's happening down there...which come on, everyone knows that is just not a forgiving fabric choice people.) You bet your Baht, I would not let Shaun out of the bungalow wearing this or the original version. Even for the men that have toned bodies, long wavy hair (not Michael Bolton wavy, more like Gavin Rosdale before he cut it, wavy) should not be wearing this atroshishness. (hahhaa, first that cannot be a word, and second I never think it will be as hard to spell these words that are in my head as in reality they are) At least the first Speedo contained the goods in a somewhat single entity. This "Booty Short" looks as if a rubber band were stretched between your legs, yes giving you that "Separated look" or to quote my hero "Camel Balls" only to wrap around your flat arse and accentuate your very hairy inner thigh. I mean really? No thank you. By the way, these are the same men that show up to their flight 30 minutes prior to departure wearing a friggin brand new Stussy shirt. (yes, after the gate has closed and right before they call my name for standby) We're all clear on this right? I can move on...
Clearly, Europeans (Sorry for the big label on this one) believe you are never to young to sit at the bar with mum and pop. I'm just sure that the first barstool was in fact a high chair. It's just more convenient. As Shaun and I are trying to enjoy what we are entitled to for living past legal drinking age, here comes the above mentioned with little Annie who must only be 4 or 5 years old. I first try to assume they are only just passing thru trying to snag one of those marashino cherries in that glutinus gel that "they" try to pass off as a real food product ("they" is the packaging company) and not really at the bar for the long haul with their impressionable child. 3 drinks later...ours, not them...they are still here. Luckily for everyone involved they are far enough away from me that they (a) cannot hear me judging them and b) are out of arms reach when I have the uncontrollable urge to reach out and slap mum, pop and Annie in a single motion...in my mind this is similar to the round house kick in Karate, but with my hand, not foot, because my legs are comfortably submerged in pool water and that would require much more effort. Which reminds me this morning at breakfast a couple with new baby enters and requests the smoking section, which is when I detect an accent further proving their origin of somewhere in Europe. After they get seated, order drinks, mum lifts said babe of 9 mos or so out of carrying-thingy, she without effort and looking au-natural, lights up a ciggy. Ummm, ok, she obviously thinks you're never too young to start smoking, along with the rest of your continent. She puffs away while pop takes a few snaps of some quality mum and babe time and I just sit there staring and judging. Only mariginally judging though. Being an ex-smoker of 15 years and I wish I could say that the quiting thing is going strong, but that would be a lie. It's friggin hard, I still think about it alot, but I am happy to report that it's been 4 mos and no ciggy's. So, even I who smoked like a chimney and also not particularily fond of the little rat bastards, I still would have never smoked around them, much less cuddle them in my arms while blowing sweet angel kisses of putrid death in their face while I casually wait for my toast and jam. Just a few tables over another mum, pop and little sonny of infancy stage, I'm gonna guess maybe a year old or something, my attention is turned to them while babe is starting to throw a little tantrum, looked like normal fussiness and the next thing I see is the babe knocks the fork onto the floor and Pop quickly smacks son on the hand followed by a deep "No" and a very brutal stare, followed by another swift open hand to the rump this time. Clearly, this attracts the attention of us, the only people who are not used to seeing this behavior, well at least not in public but the rest of the morning crew is un-distrurbed. Oh, ok, you're never too young to receive beatings. So, if it were acceptable in America to bring babies to the bar, blow ciggy smoke in their face and beat them in public with no arrests being made, maybe I would even consider popping a few out.
Now, after re-reading this entry, I can't leave you on such a positive note, I will add that when you and your partner are in public at a pool or in the ocean, or some other large expanse of water, I ask you this question...is it totally necessary to have the guy tote you around in his arms thru the water displaying way too much affection for everyone's comfort level? And after the 80th couple does this "frollick" for the day while galavanting and giggling thru the pool in front of the 100 or so other white people that you have refused to make eye contact with, why do you choose to believe that we can't see you? Really, this just makes us want to barf. "Us" as in me and the skinny white bimbo that lets her man wear the booty shorts, but she is puking for a different reason.

I will say that after we had enough judging for one day, I finally got my tan. "Tank you, see you again. hehehehe."

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Photos

Loverly
I never get tired of looking out to Sea

Seriously!
The water is just amazing!

Our little Bungalow
Nestled away

part of the compound
Coconut fields

Calabash Tree
Tastes like an apple, only it's huge!