Outside My Comfort Zone
By: Debbie Howlett
Tags: Loss, Thailand, Phuket, Family, Traveling

James Bond Island, Phuket (photo, courtesy of the very spectacular Kimberley Jane Richards)

Outside My Comfort Zone

Almost a year ago, on October 10th, 2019, I hopped on an early morning flight from YUL to YYZ to HK to HKT. I’m using airport codes to be subterfuge-spy cool-stealth. In real life, when I’m not pretending to be Agent 99, I flew from Montreal, Quebec, to Toronto, Ontario, to Hong Kong to Phuket, Thailand. At Pearson International that morning, I posted a Facebook message that read, “Phuket! she said, and booked a trip to Thailand,” which is pretty much how I told my family and friends I was leaving town. Except my kids. They knew Mum was headed out on a necessary “adventure.”

It was a last minute trip. I’d had a rough year — my own Mum had died. So when my lovely big brother invited me to join him on a trip to a detox and healing center in Phuket, Thailand, I said, “Why not?” Not entirely sure what I was getting myself into.

I’d never been to Asia. I used to fly from London, Heathrow to Victoria, British Columbia, years ago with two small boys to visit family, which is a pretty long-haul flight. Not like flying to Hong Kong though.

In Toronto, I boarded an Air Canada Boeing 787— the Dreamliner. They don’t call it that for nothing. The flight to Hong Kong was the smoothest flight I’ve ever been on. I didn’t drink on the flight because, while tempting, I was going to Atsumi, a wellness and detox center, but I did take a teeny tiny tab of Gravol at one point, thinking it might make me sleepy (it didn’t). Next to me, my fellow passengers were handing each other pills like they were candy. At one point, I think I said, “Oh, could I have one of those?”

Those big birds handle turbulence like no other airplane and I am nothing if not an anxious flyer. I watched 5 movies on the flight. One after another after another after... Oddly, all of my plane companions had face masks, eye masks, pills, and slippers. They weren’t watching anything. I had a scratchy Air Canada blanket and a Swell water bottle. They all seemed to pass out after 2 hours and stay asleep for 12. I was wide awake the entire time, watching movies like a 16 year old on a Saturday night whose parents weren’t home.

I watched: Rocket Man, Goalie, Wild Rose, Prisoners (don’t judge me, I was choking back my 3rd cup of hot Ramen at this point), and 3 Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri because frankly there wasn’t much else to do. If the airline crew weren’t feeding you, or giving you water, they plunged you into total darkness the minute your meal tray disappeared. A few times, I think I wrestled with a crew member to keep the tray, playing with my food, thinking I could keep the lights on for a few more minutes. It is roughly 15 hours or so to Hong Kong, then another 6 and a half hours to Phuket.

My brother, and a driver named Mr. A, fetched me in a car at the Phuket airport and we headed to our Airbnb. It was after 9 PM Thai time so I think I’d been up almost 24 hours at that point. At the Airbnb, we stashed my tiny bag (you need no clothes in Phuket: shorts, t-shirts, bathing suits) and headed out for dinner.

In Phuket, you travel by motorbike. I knew this, but it still terrified me. At some point, over the Arctic Circle, I mantra-ed myself with “life begins outside your comfort zone” over and over which is probably something I’d read on the internet searching for cheesy positive life affirmations over the past year.

That night, we went for what would be our last meal for 7 days. I did say we were at a detox center, right? Hello colonics.

For the next 7 days, my life consisted of restorative yoga, followed by Thai boxing taught by a very fit warrior named Moo who only grunted at me as he beat me up. One morning, I put my hand in a boxing glove as he tightly wrapped it to my wrist only to discover a tiny slimy frog inside. I left it there. We did mountain hikes, lake walks, self-defense training, beach swims, daily massages, and more.

Our guide throughout this journey was Anna, a small, gracious woman who owned the center. Her brother was a healer named Yokie who taught us how to make kombucha one warm afternoon. Their kindness had no bounds.

I rented a Honda Scoopy motorbike, but I doubt I ever took it over 40km an hour. One afternoon, my brother called me the slowest person on the Sai Yuan Road to Rawai, and I’ll admit that stung a little bit.

We had a diet regime of spirulina, coconut water, some kind of fiber shake, and every night we got something oily in a tiny glass bottle that tasted like salad dressing. It was my very favourite thing. My brother hated it and choked it back. If he didn’t drink it and fell asleep, I did.

Every morning, we had a coffee enema. Private rooms, equipped with showers, towels, hoses, soap, you name it. It was clean, safe, and sort of interesting. You basically lie down for 20 minutes, do the deed with a long tube thing, and wait until it’s over. I listened to true crime podcasts, so I had a sense of something more horrific than the enema. The rest of the day included herbal steam baths, outdoor massages, and Tuktuk rides to the market and Nai Harn beach. At sunset, we did yoga Nidra, sometimes with singing bowls or meditation during which my brother always fell asleep and snored loudly in class, making the rest of us all snicker.

I did learn how to live outside my comfort zone. And over the past 9 months, it’s come in handy, believe me. I did grow fonder and closer to my brother. We would go back in a heartbeat. If only we could.