So, after 2 [would insert adjective here, but have none that would do it justice] weeks in Myanmar sleeping in $3 rooms that, had I possessed one of those cool U.V. lights you see in every ‘C.S.I. _______’ show, might have turned me into a 9-to-5 guy, I was lucky enough to have my friend Chris invite me to share in his 5-star hotel down in Phuket (‘poo-ket’, not ‘fuk-et’) before heading off for 10 days of no reading, writing, email or talking (!) meditation session on the other side of the island.

Oh, this will help – Burma doesn’t have any Western Unions (or accept credit cards, have foreign banks, et al), something I failed to realize before getting there. Meaning I was living on less that $18 a day. But I did it – quite easily, actually, and had even managed to find out exactly how much the taxi from the Phuket Int’l Airport to the hotel was…he had brought some cash owed to me for some project meaning all I had to do was get there and I was sorted.

So I did what the one woman who still haunts me today once told me I did best: ‘Show up‘.

Was greeted at the ridiculously posh hotel (read: free welcoming mojitos, hot water, windows) and after crop-dusting all the nice Dutch families sitting in the lobby with my scent of ‘shoestring travel’, walked up to the big ole teak desk and asked them to call him, as he was due to come in a few hours prior.

‘His reservation is for tomorrow, sir.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I check my email quickly?’

‘Of course – it’s $8 for the first hour.’

‘I don’t have that’.

‘I’m sorry sir’. [Thai smile]

Hmmmm, well, that makes it interesting, as I have no credit cards and less than $4 in combined currency from 3 different countries.

‘Can I just leave my passport and then you all charge an extra night?’ I asked, already doing the math in my head about how many months of $10 installments I would be indebted to him for.

‘I’m sorry sir, unless you can call him, we can’t allow that’.

‘Well, he’s in the air, how can I do this?’

[Thai smile tightens]

‘I’m sorry sir’.

This went on for about an hour, me telling them that of course I wasn’t a backpacker and just came from doing good in a neighboring state that I could have very well been arrested for so I didn’t take my credit cards and how-about-if-I-leave-my-nice-Leica-with-you-as-collateral (even though it would barely cover the peanuts I would probably have to dine on) No? Well then what should I do?

‘Wait here’

[Insert 20 minutes of worried waiting, wondering which of the older Japanese ladies who seemed to be recreating 'The Bucket List' I would have to play with that evening in order to get a bed]

‘I’m going to have to call our G.M, sir’.

[More waiting. Well, at least they age well]

10 minutes later, they came back, having caved under the fear of someone reporting not to have a nice time in Thailand and reluctantly handed me a card to the room (I’ll leave out the numerous surcharges they added in all of this).

‘Thank you – but, how can I eat?’

‘You can use that card at any of our restaurants, bars and gift shops’.

Oh, Thailand, I shall.

Granted, what I ended up spending yesterday would have taken me for 2 weeks to my upcoming destinations, but I went all out. More whiskey sours than I could count, room service, ‘Ironman’ on pay per view, the works.

Did it hurt? Yes. A lot. But it couldn’t have been too bad, as I went to sleep with more giggles than Egyptian thread count on my pillow…sans retiree.