A Flamingo in Sparta
Lifting the curtain on the man cave. (Send help!)
My first week back in rural Thailand after six frenzied weeks in the UK.
And what a week it’s been… never, ever a dull moment in Phuket.
Palms and Peace
I touch down to two nights of sanctuary to slowly unfurl and reintegrate into Thai life. A lush, leafy haven (ramshackle chic), Cocoville Phuket Resort is the best long-time safety net. I lived in Singapore for six years, and this place was often my weekend escape, my home from home; the perfect little safe house.
I wake up in my cloud bed, palm fronds dancing on the patio that spies on the lazy buffalo fields. Journal writing, coffee drinking niche tucked away from all other guests. I adore it here. There’s space to breathe, think, plan. It’s ridiculously good to be back.
Mancave Day
But day three rolls round all too quickly, and it’s time to move on.
It’s mancave day.
Oh yes, ladies. Remember those early days of dating when you got front-row exposure to how this mystifying new male creature constructs its natural habitat when left entirely to its own devices?
I’ve received the elusive invitation to partake in mancave life (nervous side eye).
It’s only for a week. I THINK I’ll be okay. After six weeks apart, I am definitely excited for some quality time together.
My taxi rolls up and I squint through the rain at my new digs. How to describe the mancave hotel? Hmm. If Alcatraz and first-year uni accommodation had a baby in the jungle… yep, it’d be pretty much this. A maze of narrow corridors with colourful plastic cat food bowls and boxing wraps strewn like streamers lead me to the hallowed cave.
Your Own Towel
Greeted with a bear hug and plentiful chocolate (smart cookie) I’m given a quick tour of the essentials: working kettle, my towel (high five, ladies), bomb shelter-cum-wardrobe, shower. *Hands on hips man stance*: “so what do you think?”
“It’s lovely,” I reassure, “I love what you’ve done with the place”… I trail off, eyeing the Spartan rough-cast concrete finishings and demonstrably absent traces of nesting for someone who’s been here for weeks. The most personal belonging is a transparent protein shaker.
“But… where are your clothes?” I ask. “Oh I don’t unpack,” — he waves a hand at an entire life bundled up in a small open suitcase in the corner, from which a boxing glove peeps. Apparently this yields a clean t-shirt and pants every day; what more could a man want?!
“Rightey ho!” I say, and cheerfully explode my luggage into the bomb shelter, the cupboards, the bathroom shelves, the fridge, and any spare surface space. A flamingo in a sea of concrete grey and blue hues.
Flow State on, Ears off
Brad, in the meantime, has ascended to the higher plane of work land, attention rapt on laptop, that happy/concentrated/spaced gaze assuming its familiar position. Experience tells me this tends to draw all resources away from superfluous functions such as listening, so I tiptoe out and head to my favourite café to work for the day.
I pick up a scooter and bask in the delicious freedom of roaming the Phuket coast. This. is. the. life.
I pop back at 7pm to grab my clothes for an evening run to shake off a busy work day. Scooped up in a bear hug (God, I could get used to this!) and sent on my way, I let him know I’ll only be an hour. I stride out, tunes on max into the deepening darkness with the bugs and crickets singing their hearts out; a ridiculously gorgeous time of day.
I smash out a few kilometres then decide to take rest of the time to walk and catch up with family on the phone, keeping an eye on the time. I hurry back for 8pm, bloody starving, ready to prise my lil overachiever away from the laptop.
Diplomacy 101
…Only to find he’s literally just back from eating alone. The mind boggles, but I count to ten while peeling off sweaty lyrca and remembering all of this is excellent toddler practice. “Oh, you ate already, how come?” I enquire sweetly. “I was hungry, so I went to get chicken.” Innocent grey-blue eyes probe my face to try and understand how this could possibly offend. “So, if we’re staying together, maybe just give me a heads up that you’re sorted for dinner and then I can pick up something for myself on my way,” I venture. “I got you wine though!” he beams, the bottle brandished like a self-delighted puppy with a champion stick, and it’s impossible to be cross. Loving the hunter gatherer’s nutritional selection, I thank him profusely and head out for food.
Decibel Test
We roll into bed and an almighty, earth-shatteringly loud motor fires up at alarmingly close range. “What the… ?!?!” I sit up and eyeball an entirely unfazed Brad. “Oh, it’s just the aircon. It’s a little noisy but don’t worry, you get used to it”. He closes his eyes serenely.
Morning rolls around s-l-o-w-l-y and it takes everything I possess not to check back into Cocoville, sleep being relatively essential for me to function like a human with their shit in any way together.
But this girl isn’t a quitter.
Cheerful grey-blue eyes appear behind a cup of coffee mercifully offered to the slightly grumpy blonde mess in his bed, and I am eternally grateful for the caffeine and the gesture. “You look great,” he beams, “you must have slept well?” I can’t tell if he’s pushing my buttons, and huffily snaffle the coffee into the duvet cocoon.
Mancave Falls
I suck it up and remind myself it’s only a week, take my lovingly assigned towel, and head to the cave shower. Kept ever on my toes, I blearily try to figure out whether it’s more effective to press my body into the corner to try and mitigate the ensuing mammoth flood (which I see has been semi-attended to with a rolled-up towel barricade; who needs shower doors?!) or just sit in the middle of the bathroom floor, sud up and embrace the situation.
As the week goes on, the mancave actually starts to grow on me. Touchingly, a small desk appears for me to work at, and two days later, even an extension power cable. I dutifully work in my cave corner sometimes to show my appreciation. The views aren’t half bad — epic moody mountain vistas of the rainy season whipping up a rage over the jungly peaks. I order pizza and nest into my cove (now with electricity and EVERYTHING!) as outside the rain hammers the ubiquitous metal.
It’s Not a Turd
Penultimate mancave day. Brad surprises me with lunch. I gush over the obvious effort taken to bring me what is seemingly a turd in a freezer bag, and some fish with cauliflower.
Mancave Malfunction
On the last night (am I almost sad that we’re leaving?!), the WHUM WHUM WHUM of the helicopter blade-esque aircon suddenly grinds to an eerie, mechanical halt at 4am. Power cut. Wind-tunnel gone, I turtle my head out of the duvet and peer at Brad who sleeps blissfully on.
The deafening silence suddenly reveals the sounds of the night usually masked by our highly industrious AC unit. Dogs bark in the distance, the rain rallies high and low as if someone plays with a dimmer switch, and an unnerving metallic clanking and creaking conjures images of a pirate boat. The room starts to rapidly heat up until we are both cooked enough to leave the mancave as soon as anywhere else is open.
Very ready for the next adventure now.
Today mancave rental month ends for Brad (aw, how sad *skips happily out*) and we check into our next jungle lodgings. Adventures abound, I’m sure. How crazy it is, getting to know how another human works, at close range.
