Salad days and a foot scab
Ed, me and Swedish hitman Jan then thought in the interests of research we would check out another part of the island. Last time we did this we ended up on an ill fated jounrey to the bloody awful shanty town of Bottle Beach where the days highlights included eating in an empty restaurant serviced by stoned guys and having to swim back out to our boat in big waves, cutting our feet on the rocks and me losing my camera. Undeterred we tried another adventure - Ed and I had heard that a beach called Had Salad was a bit of winner - apart from it's most excellent silly name there were supposed to nice sunsets. After a ride in the back of a truck driven by a psychotic old man at about 100ks an hour on dirt roads we arrived.
Samui, as the lonely planet legend would have it saw the arrival of it's first tourists on a coconut boat from bangkok in 1971. A paradise of palm trees and white sandy beaches it quickly became a travellers favourite. Fast forward to the present and there is now an airport, hourly ferries from the mainland, more swanky resorts that you can poke a stick at and more big german tourists sporting big tattoos and sunburn than you'd have time to poke a stick at. It sure is a different world Samui - while the beaches are still lovely you can't even see them from the main street as each resort has claimed their patch of real estate, there are Starbucks, McDonalds, girlie bars and gift shops. It reminded me of Kuta in Bali - fun but more than a little bit tacky. Ed and I decided that if you can't beat 'em join 'em and booked dinner later than night in a gorgeous resort restaurant called Poppies, in the meantime I thought we should test out one of the millions of massage and beauty joints on the main strip. We choose one and a menu of epic proportions is thrust into our hands, facials, manicures, pedicures, body scrubs etc etc - I thought we should try something different and in a panic chose a "foot scrub" - earlier I had spied another stall advertising something called a "Foot Scab" - I guess I should have been warned then...
We were taken upstairs, told to lie down and the Foot scab began. First some kind of alcohol was applied to our feet, not so relaxing for Ed who had a cut on his foot so he lay there whimpering and eyes watering. Then the ladies started attacking our tender soles with what felt like sandpaper and a file. In between bouts of foot sandpapering we were 'massaged' which meant for me having my head and ears prodded vigorously and for Ed it meant basically being attacked and shoved into a variety of unnatural positions. At this point he whispers that he's not having a good time, "don't worry" I assure him "once it's over you will have feet as soft as a little girls." His indignant reply was "I'm a man, a don't want f**king feet like a little girl." ah yes - hadn't thought of that.
My feet were lovely and soft afterwards I have to say - although a week later they started to peel and flake. Ed, after his 'massage' had a stiff neck for a couple of days. Lovely.
Ed in shock after his foot scab