THE SPA CHRONICLES: Digging In The Dirt

Jet lag is real. I’m not talking about the kind of jet lag that makes you feel like you want to go to bed a little earlier. I’m talking about the slap-you-in-the-head, shake-your-teeth-around kind of jet lag that has you wide awake and bouncy as a puppy before the sun rises ('bouncy' is not an adjective that could EVER apply to me on a normal morning)

Over the years, I’ve learned not to fight the jet lag. All those articles that give you tips and tricks to combat it aren’t very helpful. I’ve found that getting onto the schedule of where ever you are is best, and maybe an afternoon nap if you can get one in. 

So, my day on Samui starts bright and early. Well, not so bright since the sun is just beginning to rise. Even before the sun is up, it’s already 30 degrees (yes, celsius) outside. I am sitting outside my studio, drinking the hideous instant coffee that is in every rental property in Thailand, and reading my usual list of blogs. I notice that the light in Aiman’s studio is on, and am surprised because he doesn’t seem like a morning person to me. He seems more like a stay-at-the-clubs-until-closing person. When next I look up from my computer, Aiman is chasing one of his cats around the pool, trying to get them back inside. He is, or course, wearing the tiniest underwear in the history of underwear. I am ok with this. Watching him herd his cat is much more entertaining than my blogs and the spa doesn’t open until 11:00 so I have plenty of time.  Eventually, he gives me a grin and a thumbs-up and disappears into his studio. (If you’re now planning a trip to Koh Samui to see “the sights”, this is the link to Aiman’s place)

When I arrive at the spa, the boys are finishing up their morning chores, still looking sleepy-eyed and frousy. I decide to reorganize, rearrange the furniture and remove some of PP’s ‘improvements’.  An hour later, I’m liking the way things look, especially now that there are far fewer sparkly things and fake flowers. I let Mr. Pat know, in my broken Thai and sign language, that when I return from the lawyer, he will be giving me a massage.

I find the lawyer’s office using pure instinct, having been there only twice before, six months ago. Samui street addresses are mostly meaningless, particularly if you don't read Thai. Even the locals give directions using landmarks. Ajay finally arrives and we get down to business. There seems to be some question about me becoming Second Director as it could interfere with me getting a visa at some point in the future. I always feel like the greasy-haired, geeky girl at the party when I’m in this office. Everyone speaks in Thai, tossing me an English bone only if I beg. The discussion goes on for a long time, with various parties coming and going as they add their opinion. Eventually, the head lawyer appears and give us the definitive answer: It’s all good and my future visas will be no problem. She then promptly hands me a bill for 10,000 Baht. My taxes, she tells me. She filed zero income so I’m only paying the minimum, but I can only do that for three years. As soon as I pay that bill, I’m handed another one. The cost of the paperwork for our Board of Directors change. It’s like a running joke. I feel as though I should just walk through the room with my credit cards on a tray, offering them to everyone like hors d’oeuvres. Still, it doesn’t matter what country you’re in, it has to be done.   My taxes are paid which will keep the Thai government off my back, and Ajay and I have re-organized our company and our personal agreement. I have copies of the legal papers that now travel with me on tour. They’re entirely in Thai except for where I signed. I’m sure they’d make lovely place mats. 

I return to the spa in the late afternoon for my massage with Mr. Pat. Pat is a nice enough boy. Young, good looking, shy, keeps the spa clean, does as he’s told, but he doesn’t speak one, single word of English, and he’ll certainly never be accused of being burdened with an overly effervescent personality. Still, he gives quite a good massage. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised at how good he is. 

By the time my massage is finished, it is past 5:00 p.m. and high time for a glass of wine. I had already notified Peter & Dave, the owners at the bar next door, that I was back on the island. They immediately called their liquor supplier since my visits always coincide with a sudden spike in their red wine sales. 

 

I have been trying, through Ajay, to set up a meeting with Mr. Nut so that I can hear his story. We have arranged to meet at Ajay’s spa at 9:00 p.m., with Ajay in attendance so that he can fill in any gaps that Mr. Nut’s English can’t. I am perfectly happy to spend my waiting time at the bar, enjoying a glass of wine, or three, and catching up with Peter, Dave, his boyfriend Patrick and sweet Mr. Noodle, the bar mascot. 

As usually happens, the other expats and business owners from the neighbourhood pop in and out of the bar, most of whom I’ve met before. It’s like I never left, and I’m reminded again of why I like here. I have always found that people who make expats of themselves are a unique breed, usually eccentric adventurers with great stories. Possibly the most eccentric of this group is Terry who owns the ladyboy cabaret around the corner. 

He is the loudest, brashest, most foul-mouthed, politically incorrect Aussie you will ever meet. On this occasion, he has taken to calling me “Sally” for some reason.

The appointed meeting time draws near so I make my apologies at the bar and drive over to Ajay’s place. When I arrive, Ajay introduces me to Mr. Sit who, apparently, also used to work at Sairoong, but left because he felt ‘uncomfortable’ around PP. I ask if Mr. Sit can explain more about why he felt uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Once again, I am left to put the pieces together because Thai’s won’t talk shit about each other. 

Since Mr. Nut has still not arrived, I ask Ajay if Mr. Sit has told him any details about PP. Ajay says that he's heard a few things, from a few different people, but he feels that everyone knows something that they aren't telling. Curious. Also curious is the fact that Ajay now tells me the PP called him today….and asked him for a job, convinced that I was going to fire him. I don’t really have a reason to fire him, yet, but the fact that he seems worried makes me think that it won’t be long until I find one. I ask Ajay for his honest assessment of PP, using what he's heard from others. He tells me that he thinks PP systematically gets rid of anyone who knows too much about him. THEN, he tells me that it's pretty much an open secret that PP plays the illegal Thai lottery. This is an underground thing, certainly mafia run, and usually costs around 10,000 Baht a month.

Now I am left to wonder where a poor Thai boy, who works in a spa with very few customers, is getting 10,000 Baht a month. And if that weren’t enough, it seems that PP owes people money, and they're looking for him. 

  Mr. Nut never shows up and is not answering his phone.

Next chapter: Cracking The Nut