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This ain’t too bad, ma
This could be heaven, if not then it must be close. The Merlin Beach Resort, just south of Patong township on Phuket Island, simply oozes perfection; private beach, a pool complex that just doesn’t seem to end, poolside bars, and restaurants. Perhaps the only blemish, Australians of every shape, size and tattoo, each and every one seemingly with a beer-brand singlet and rasping voice. How ghastly.
The hotel itself, which will be home for the next two weeks, has that traditional Asian open-air style, with large, covered, foyers and restaurants but otherwise open to the elements. In this case a light, but warm, balmy, breeze. The rooms are spacious and overlook the pools, or open onto them if you can afford the best, and all have balconies with views over the gardens and palm trees.
Surrounded at each end by jungle-covered rocky hills, the beach is of pure white sand, inaccessible to all but hotel guests, and home only to a few small crabs and locals offering snorkels and masks for hire, beer and fruit to drink and eat, and massages for good health or self-indulgent pleasure. They’ll even do your laundry for 70 baht a kilogramme.
We are just so well set up; it is raining outside after a warm, sunny morning. Appropriately, the Pogues’ Summer in Siam is playing out over our little Ipod speaker system, and Kaelene is on the bed snoozing after a 60 minute body wrap and massage in the spa. How is this for a description? The Asian approach of achieving and maintaining a healthy body lies not only on the cleansing and softening of our skin, but in the drawing out of impurities from within through a ritual of application at the hands of dedicated therapists. This helps us to relax, emptying our minds and soothing our souls in an atmosphere of peace.
Funnily enough, Thailand has had a good feel about it since our arrival late last night, but it could have been otherwise. We came in on a Jetstar flight which was every bit as bad as our hotel is good, the plane was full, we were in dicky-seats in the very back row and so cold we thought we were back in mid-winter Berlin. Other passengers with clothes in their hand luggage started adding layers, even the flight attendants wrapped up and looked miserable. The only relief was from thin airline blankets, available at a cost of $A8 each, causing us to question whether the low temperature was a plot to increase on board sales targets. Despite complaints by us and others, it remained unacceptably cold for the entire nine hour journey. Entertainment consoles and pre-paid meals were available to those who were given the option by booking directly through Jetstar; others like us who used Qantas or a travel agent simply missed out or had to make do with left-overs. Even before boarding, Kaelene overheard one young woman who had been given a boarding pass for a non-existent seat telling someone on the phone her treatment by Jetstar had been the worst experience of her life and never again would use them. Maybe we should follow her example.