This Must Be What Being Beyoncé Feels Like

Mission complete. We had done our Die Hard bit and survived village life in the rural Thai countryside, without getting completely eaten alive by mosquitoes or becoming emotional wrecks. I had managed to fight back the tears when it came to saying goodbye and leaving Nakhon Ratchasima for Bangkok. The bus station was a hot mess of deafening vendors and lairy travellers, all trying to get everywhere at once – it was a frenzy of last minute commotion and suitcase obstacles; in the end all I wanted was to get on that damned (air-conditioned) bus.

Our family trips to Thailand involve more travelling than the average get-away – we usually spend a few nights in Bangkok first, before two weeks up-country, then a week at the seaside before returning to the capital. On previous occasions we’ve stayed in Jomtien, Hua Hin and Bangsaphan, each home to beaches I’ve marvelled at and never wanted to leave. This time round on Family Vaycay Siam Edition 2K14, Dad decided Kim and I needed to see what the real deal was, so we found ourselves Phuket-bound.

We were flying to the South, so The Rents had booked one night in the Amari hotel in Bangkok, next to Don Meuang airport. The beds were huge, the shower was SHAMAYZING and I rather enjoyed strutting around in a hotel robe and slippers, being the flawless diva I am.


The next day we were up and ready to go, on more-than-full stomachs thanks to gluttony plus an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. The flight to Phuket was short and sweet (we received more complimentary snacks on the Korat-Bangkok bus-ride), and on arrival we found the airport unofficially extended beyond its doors; crowds of taxi and tour company representatives gathered close enough to the airport entrance that we literally got named placards shoved in our faces. Through the mass we spotted our transfer, and so began the hour taxi ride (in a plush 4×4, WAHEY) to our (five star) hotel. Pulling up to the Avista Resort in Kata, Phuket, left me a bit gormless to say the least. You know how you have those places you stay in, and even though it’s great, and it’s a lovely treat being away from home, but there’s still some things that could be changed/made better/’well it’s just not quite home is it?’. Yeah, well, this place is different, as in I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE WHERE DO I SIGN UP FOR PERMANENT RESIDENCE. It’s absolute perfection. I cannot fault it. Believe me, I’ve tried to think of ways it falters, but this hotel is not lacking in any department. The only thing I can say is to get there from the beach/town you will have to endure climbing an almighty hill; but then it only costs 2 bob in a taxi to get up it, so… no complaints from me.

Kim and I were so impressed with our living-the-life-of-luxury room that we did the classic ERMEHGERD LET’S TAKE PHOTOS OF EVERYTHING routine, so here you go:

DAT SHOWER DOE. I enjoyed the dream acoustics so much: It’s like I was transformed into Sasha Fierce, okay? My sister on the other hand not so much, but I reckon it’s cause she was dying  for a pee whilst I happened to be mid-ballad.

Breakfast was sensational. Think the kind of buffet you see in dreams: there was toast, Danish pastries,  croissants, waffles, pancakes, every kind of jam, salad, fruit, porridge, cereal, bacon, sausages,  noodles, fried rice, chicken/beef/pork/fish stir-fry: literally you name it, they had it. They even had an Egg-Man; as in,  you ask him how you want them done and he’ll do it – even a personally made omelette. Insane.

The first meal of the day probably isn’t supposed to last two hours, but when mother wants to make the most of an inclusive breakfast buffet, be prepared to sit through four bowlfuls of Guay Tiaw Naam.

Ladies that lounge
Ladies that lounge

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.