Day 4 – Jet Lag

Our fourth day in Phuket was that one day everyone has on an overseas holiday. That day where you physically cannot do anything and jet lag finally takes over.

We were pretty lucky. Jet lag let us explore our neighbourhood and head out on an all day tour of Phi Phi Island before digging its talons, teeth, stingers, and claws into us. Even though, I think it may have been because of our Phi Phi trip that jet lag caught up with us. It was 8AM Thai time (so 11AM Aussie time) when we finally woke up. So that was the time difference finally conquered. Not that it meant much.

It took us about two hours to leave our hotel room to go wandering about the side of Jungceylon that we didn’t know about until our almost-holiday-friends told us about it. Once there, we stumbled on an arts and craft market buried under levels and levels of “proper” (read: boring) shops. It was incredible. But, surprisingly, we didn’t buy much. I think jet lag stole our wallets as well as our will to do things.

Today was the day for pampering. So that’s what we did. We each got a proper Thai aromatherapy massage. As we walked in, we had our feet washed and put into special “inside” slippers. Then we were led to our little cubicle and told to undress. I have never had a proper massage before, so I was a little unnerved. But once I was under the blanket, and the women were getting rid of all the tension in my shoulders, back, calves, and neck I didn’t notice anymore.
I think I need to make a habit of getting a massage once a month. Because all of those niggling worries that you don’t even notice are still lurking in your subconscious; and massages seem to bind these worries together, gag them, and throw them off a cliff somewhere. Of course, they always manage to climb their way back up that cliff face and back into the darkest corner of your mind, but you’ve managed to get rid of them for a bit.

After an awkward transition from lying on my stomach to lying on my back, and a front-of-leg, abs, and collarbone area massage, we got back into our clothes and drifted back to reality. But not for long.

Our whole trip thus far, Dani has been telling me how much she wanted to get her nails done. So after having our muscles dissolved, we floated into a nail spa. For Dani, black shellac nails; for me, a pedicure. A pedicure for me is a way of thanking my feet for all the shit I put them through. I work 20-30 hours a week in shoes that are so horrifically bad for me that I have calluses on the edges of my feet that look like the start of my sixth and seventh toes. But the shoes cost me $120 so I will wear them until they fall apart. Then there are my gym shoes that always seem to give me blisters whenever I use the treadmill. And then, because I’m a girl, I’m constantly wearing shoes that methodically tear away my skin. So a pedicure is my way of saying thanks.
I didn’t realise how bad my feet had gotten until the beautician pulled out the grater and the sander. They are exactly what they sound like. She managed to get rid of my new toe stubs as well as this bit of dead skin that had been flapping around under my left foot for about a week.
Finally, she painted my nails with an attention to detail I have never seen. I always forget that I need to pick a colour, because my nails aren’t the reason I get pedicures. And when I say “always” I mean both of the two occasions I have ever gotten a pedicure. And that includes the time I’m talking about now. This time, I got a sparkly maroon colour.

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After our pamper session we went back to the hotel and planned activities for the rest of our week. Well, I didn’t. Dani did. She found an all day tour of Phuket for us that included elephant riding as well as sightseeing. Plus, we booked our tickets for Fantasea, which is apparently the must see show in Phuket. With all of this accomplished, we both figured that that was enough for one day. So we wallowed in our jet lag entrapped state and watched movies and ate our food that we’d picked up from the markets down the road, before falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of the Phuket night.

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About Bec Graham

Bec Graham, 24, was born on the wrong continent. Everything from her burns-like-paper skin tone to her inability to cope with the slightest hint of a hot day suggests she should have been born under the gloomy skies and mild sun of the UK. She hopes writing will get her to her rightful home one day. Failing that, she scans the skies for a spinning blue police box, hoping to catch a lift back to the motherland.
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