Laundry Bags to Tough Thai Massage Ladies – March 21st

Hello, friends new and old,

 

Our room at the Good 9 At Home B&B in Phuket, Thailand is absolutely charming. We have a king bed, walls painted in soft and deep blues, and cute wood-like furniture with plenty of storage for our things. Off to the side, there’s a private bathroom with a waterfall shower—though the glass barrier isn’t quite wide enough to prevent water from splashing onto the bathroom floor. Still, the water temperature and pressure are perfect—exactly what you want for a relaxing shower. Unlike our tiny shoebox of a room in Bangkok, this one has a window! It’s a two-pane sliding window that offers a small but lovely view: a two-foot slice of sky and the top of a banana tree swaying behind the hotel. John hasn’t been feeling well and wanted a low-key day in the room, so I decided to fill my day with little adventures while he rested.

 

Dressed in my funky pink-and-blue mandala pants from Bangkok, a tan workout top, and many rings, I set out early to find a laundromat. Just up the street, I found Ps@Washaway, a self-serve, open-style laundromat accessible from both the front and side. It had 3 washers, 3 dryers, and a sign politely requesting that customers remove their shoes before stepping onto the platform with the machines. With my Cotopaxi laundry bag packed to the brim, I wandered around, trying to get my bearings. The sun was relentless today, so stepping under the laundromat’s shaded roof was a nice change of pace.

 

As I scouted the area, I spotted the coin exchange machine—my nemesis. No matter where I go—whether in the U.S., Tokyo, or here—these machines seem to have it out for me. I fished a 100-baht bill from my blue purse and smoothed it out with my fingers before feeding it into the slot, King Vajiralongkorn’s face first. The bill slid in aaaaaand immediately spat back out. I flipped it. Nope. Reversed it. Nope. Again. No luck. My attempts turned into a ridiculous montage as the machine rejected the bill faster and faster each time. Glancing around for help, I caught the attention of a sweet Thai woman waiting for her own laundry. With a sheepish smile, I explained my struggle. She took the bill, smoothed out the edge just a little more, and—bam!—got it on the first try. I said wow and told her she was magic. She laughed and walked back over to her chair. I thanked her with a small bow, pressing my hands together in gratitude. She returned the gesture with a warm smile.

 

Now armed with 10 coins, I headed over to the washing machines, feeling victorious—until I realized I had forgotten one crucial thing: laundry detergent. So, with my oversized laundry sack in hand, once again I made my way back toward the detergent vending machine. For 10 Baht you could choose between Thai jasmine scented, clean laundry scented, or mixed floral scented detergent packets. I popped my 10 baht coin through the coin slot, clicked the button with the hand icon next to the mixed floral scent, and watched the metal ring turn to drop the packet into the delivery slot. It was squishy and warm, toasted by the hot air sitting inside the machine. Feeling confident, I took a barefoot step back onto the wooden platform ready to do some laundry.

 

*****

 

About three minutes down the street, I sat inside the Rise & Grind, sipping a minty chocolate iced drink through a straw. It was 85 degrees outside and very humid, so instead of waiting for my laundry to finish at the open-air laundromat, I decided to pass the time in this cool, air-conditioned café. At the entrance of Rise&Grind, a mat read, “Please remove your shoes.” It was the first business I’d ever visited where the vibe was no shirt, shoes, no service.

 

My chair faced a large window overlooking an empty development lot across the street, a selection of local houses, and beautiful tall palm trees. Behind the counter, the shop owner tinkered with something—surrounded by a giant red espresso machine, fresh fruit, and various other tools on the counter. I had ordered a ciabatta breakfast sandwich and was waiting for it to arrive.

 

Two French men sat chatting at a table in the middle of the café. One of them nodded to me; I nodded back, then returned to listening to my new favorite podcast: Random Number Generator Horror Podcast No. 9. It’s made by Night Vale Presents—the same folks behind Welcome to Night Vale—and each episode reviews a different horror movie. I’m easily startled, can’t stomach gore, but I love a good jump scare. Listening to Cecil Baldwin and Jeffrey Cranor talk through the plot, start to finish, is the perfect way to experience the more gross films without having to actually watch them. The eerie commentary added a spooky edge to an otherwise hot, tropical day in Phuket.

 

When my sandwich arrived, I remembered I wasn’t supposed to eat gluten—it hurts my stomach—so I picked around the bread. Halfway through breakfast, my laundry timer went off, reminding me it was time to head back and switch loads. I quickly finished up, paid, and went outside to grab my shoes. Stepping into the heat immediately felt like walking into a pool—but in this case, the water was the air itself, thick and hot and all-encompassing. I looked left and right for any passing scooters before crossing the lightly paved road to a safer walking path. At each tight corner along the way, convex mirrors were installed—so drivers could see who was coming and avoid a crash. Whether you were on a scooter or just walking, these mirrors play a small but essential part of survival here.

 

I passed a large, factory-like building with a few broken windows. It was hard to tell whether it was still in use. Either way, the area around it was decently full of life—local homes, small businesses, scooters zipping past. When I arrived back at the laundromat, the same woman who had helped me earlier was sitting on a stool by the folding table. She smiled, and I smiled back. Then, slipping off my shoes again, I stepped up onto the wooden platform to finish my chore.

 

*****

 

After dropping my laundry off at our room, it was 1 p.m.—time to head to Nara Massage & Spa in Chalong, a sub-district in southern Phuket. I had booked a 120-minute Thai massage. Back home, I used to get massages from a hippie-style woman who had studied in Thailand, but now I wanted to experience the real thing. I headed outside to the B&B’s tables and chairs set up under the awning to wait for my Grab scooter. Grab scooters can accommodate one passenger and are more affordable than cars. I’d never been on a motorcycle or scooter before, and I was feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. I guess that’s why we’re called Nervous and Nomadic, eh?

 

Jimmie (pronounced tah-mee), our host, popped out of her office and called out, “Your friend—is he okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think he’s just feeling a bit under the weather today.”

“Ahh, yes,” she nodded. “The heat and sun and walking can make it like that. Where you going?”

“I’m going to get a massage.”

“Ohhh, it’s hot today. Do you have a helmet?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Have a fun day.”

“Bye-bye!”

“Bye-bye!”

 

Jimmie is a very sweet lady, and we really lucked out staying at her B&B. Every morning she provides jam and toast, along with coffee and tea. But it’s her warmth and welcoming nature that make the stay so special. She always pops out to say hello and ask about our day when she sees us. She also gives excellent recommendations—especially for places to watch the sunset. She told me once, “I want my guests to feel like they are at home.” And she really means it.

 

She stood by the entrance to Good 9 at Home, watching to make sure I got onto the Grab bike safely. I swung my leg over the back of the scooter and settled in behind the driver. He was dressed head to toe in black—long pants, a turtleneck, driving gloves, and a big helmet with a visor. It was clear he was doing everything possible to avoid a sunburn or even a tan. Leaning slightly toward him, I said, “This is my first time on a scooter.” He glanced back and said kindly, “I will go slow for you.” 

 

I placed both hands on the back of the seat as the scooter began to move. What a rush—wind in my face, open road stretching through the countryside. It was thrilling. My driver was an expert, weaving around traffic with precision, keeping a steady speed, and choosing the best moments to pass other vehicles. The sun wasn’t too harsh, and I suddenly understood why so many people love riding motorcycles. It felt incredibly freeing—like that moment on a bicycle when you start to go really fast and then fly downhill. Except this feeling didn’t end as quickly. It just kept going. After we exited the main round-about, he pulled to the side and slowed down. We had arrived.

 

I hopped off the bike, legs a little wobbly, and thanked the driver with a small bow. Then I made my way over to Nara Massage & Spa. Outside the entrance, a scattered collection of brightly colored sandals signaled: shoes off before entering. I tucked mine neatly under a cushioned bench and stepped inside. A wave of calming music washed over me, mingled with the soft scent of sandalwood. The space was dimly lit and serene. I walked through the main waiting area to the front desk, where two women in light brown uniforms greeted me with, “Hello, you have an appointment?” I said yes, and after confirming my name and massage type, one of them asked, “Are you okay with massage on your belly and chest?” I nodded. “Okay.” Then she held out a wooden tray displaying six small, corked bottles of massage oil. I had booked the aromatherapy Thai massage—just to make it feel a little extra. After sniffing each one, I chose the dark bottle labeled Thai Jasmine and handed it to her. Though I had arrived a bit early, she said, “You can start now,” and gestured for me to follow her.

 

Around the corner was a small foot-washing station—silver bowls with faucets, a wooden bench, and a shelf of bamboo slippers against the wall. My 50ish year-old massage therapist, Jah, came over and firmly washed my feet to prepare me for the massage. After a scrub and rinse, she slipped the bamboo slippers onto my feet and beckoned for me to follow her. We walked through a narrow hallway made of deep brown wood, with a few small windows letting in some light. After climbing a short flight of stairs, we entered the massage room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of the same dark wood, giving the space a cozy, lodge-like feel. The room was dim, lit only by two warm lamps at the far end. A dark curtain covered the window. In the center was a massage table draped with a deep blue floral sheet. Rolled towels and a wooden bin for my belongings were placed neatly on top. These bins are common under tables at restaurants in Japan and Vietnam, and it was nice to see them here in Thailand too—they make storing your things so easy and secure. I placed my belongings in the bin. Jah handed me another sheet and a small plastic bag containing a pair of disposable underwear. Then she said, “I’ll be outside,” and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

 

I wasn’t exactly sure what to do—this was a bit different from the Thai massages I’d had back in the States—but I figured I was meant to undress and get under the second sheet. I wasn’t sure about my top, but I took off my pants and placed them in the bin. Then I climbed onto the bed and pulled the sheet over me. “Ready,” I called. She stepped back in. I pointed to my shirt and asked, “This too?” She nodded and stepped back out again. Once I was fully undressed except for the underwear, I called out again: “Ready.” It felt a little like being at the doctor’s office—changing into a gown and climbing onto the exam table, feeling a little exposed and unsure of what’s to come. Jah came back inside and gestured for me to lie down. I started to lie on my back, but she gently said, “On belly.” Gathering the sheet around me to avoid flashing her, I flipped over—oh so gracefully—and settled in. I nestled my face into the horseshoe-shaped headrest. The only sounds I could hear filtered in softly through the window—an unexpectedly pleasant mix of distant honks and passing cars, a kind of urban white noise. Then Jah got to work.

 

And let me tell you—she put in the work. Thai massage is a style where the masseuse uses not only their hands, but also their elbows, forearms, feet, and full body weight to work on you. I had checked the “strong pressure” box when I booked the appointment, and she did not disappoint. There were times, like when she was massaging directly along my shin bone with her forearms, that I genuinely wasn’t sure I that could handle it. It was so painful—but also a great practice in breathing through discomfort. She spent about ten minutes on each shoulder, digging her elbows deep into the knots. I could feel them giving up and melting away, like they knew resistance was futile.

 

At one point, she climbed onto the table and sat facing me, legs outstretched. She placed one foot on the inside of my thigh, braced the other leg, and pushed outward while holding the opposite thigh. It was quite an intense hip opener. Another moment? She got on all fours on top of me and began working her elbows into my back. You could tell she had been doing this for a long time. She was precise with her movements, applied strong pressure the entire time, and laughed with me when I giggled through the pain. And, with every new muscle group she applied the Thai Jasmine scented oil I’d chosen, making the room smell like sweet flowers.

 

At the end, she had me sit up and cross my legs, then sat behind me and pressed my back forward—way farther than I can bend on my own. She lifted me back up, then started gently bopping my head with her hands (which I wasn’t expecting, but somehow felt nice?). Finally, she grabbed my waist, anchored my legs with her feet, and threw the top half of me to the side. Somehow she cracked my back right in the middle, where it’s the hardest to crack on my own. It was super satisfying. All in all it was incredible. And, at times, incredibly painful. But when she was done with my voluntary torture, I knew I was going to feel good tomorrow.

 

Then—bam—it was done, snapping me right back to reality. Jah stepped outside to give me privacy while I changed back into my clothes. Once I was ready, she led me downstairs to the lobby. I thanked her, and she sweetly tried to get me to book another appointment, asking when I’d be coming again. I smiled and said I’d think about it. It was definitely worth it, but I didn’t need another one anytime soon—and on a traveler’s budget, I have to be economical. Wearing the bamboo slippers once more, I shuffled into the lobby, where the front desk attendant told me to sit at a small table. Waiting for me there was a little cup of tea and a single cookie. Still a bit out of it, I headed over, grateful for the quiet moment and the sweet treat. I felt proud of myself for doing something just for me, and was already thinking about my next mini-adventure: mailing postcards. Once I finished my tea, I headed just down the street to the post office, where I sent off a few postcards to friends and family. Then I booked another Grab scooter back to the B&B. It was 5 p.m. on the dot—just in time to find a yummy dinner spot. Once I got back to the B&B and checked in with John (who was alive and getting the rest he needed), I set my sights on doing just that. It’s always nice to have days where you feel like you accomplished everything on your to-do list. 

 

More soon,

 

W