Happiness Wherever
DAY: 39
LOCATION: Koh Samui
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Day 38 had been so lovely, I decided to press repeat, with a few tweaks. Like 20 photos of the sunrise instead of 30 (can’t, stop, pushing, button), and mango with my cornflakes rather than banana. In all seriousness, my change in attitude was really improving my experience of Chaweng. I even managed to enjoy a coconut at a trashy beach bar with songs about tequila playing.
For lunch I tried a place recommended on Happy Cow – Vegan Khunnay. While not quite at the level of the buffets in Surat Thani and Vientiane, this hole in the wall delivered. I got a heaping plate of authentic Thai cuisine for $2, right near the awful touristy center with its shopping mall and Hard Rock Café. A diamond in the rough.
After some Hitchiker’s on the beach, I once again walked to Vikasa. It reminded me of when I used to bike to UCLA from my place in Hollywood. A lot of people thought I was nuts, but I actually enjoyed the commute. There was something about the routine, the time to just be with my thoughts. In the car it always felt like the destination was the only thing – how fast can we get there?? - but on foot it became something more. The landmarks along the way became real, meaningful even. The smoothie shop, Dr. Frog’s, the steep climb giving way to a sweeping view. Things you don’t pay attention to in a temperature controlled box, or a rumbling tuk tuk.
I arrived to the class early, giving me an opportunity to speak with the gorgeous instructor. His blue eyes pierced mine as I asked him about his journey into yoga teaching.
“I came here on holiday from the UK and just knew I had to be here. I quit my job and came back a couple of months later to do my training, and they offered me a job after that. I’ve never looked back, and never been happier,” his eyes shone. Actually, his whole body shone. Maybe it was his aura, or maybe just his brilliant bronzed physique, but island yoga life was clearly working for him.
“Mm-hmm, that’s incredible,” I tried to play it cool. He wasn’t the first yogi I’d developed a crush on, and he wouldn’t be the last.
With the help of the bug spray, the class went much better than the night before. It was pretty hard not to feel connected to the earth when practicing in such a heavenly space. Based on atmosphere alone, it beat out every other studio I’d ever been at – it was that beautiful.
At dinner I approached a table of three girls and asked to join them (if it ain’t broke). Over some unbelievable food, we shared each of our stories and what had brought us here. Bonnie, an actress from London, had been performing at Hong Kong Disney the past year and this was her treat to herself before returning home to look for more stage work. Daniella, a modelesque French videographer, was taking a break in between her dream job shooting videos of some of the world’s most exotic locations for a luxury cruise line. Peach was from Singapore and worked in IT. She had come to unplug from tech and the city. All of us were in love with Vikasa.
After stuffing ourselves with noodles and curry and stir fry, we waddled back down to the pavilion for a sound bath meditation. It was led by an Irishman, who looked like a super tan, tatted up, crystal-wearing Michael Fassbender. He talked faster than a New Yorker with an accent thick as mud, but from what I could make out he was hilariously dry and very well-versed in spirituality, especially Hinduism.
“These bowls were given to me by a monk after I’d spent 10 years in Tibet,” he explained. (Or maybe he said two years? Same diff.) “Each is perfectly tuned for each specific chakra. I will come around and play each over everyone’s head. Has anyone done a sound bath before?”
Surprisingly, of the twenty people in the semi-circle, I was the only one who raised my hand. I’d participated in two sound baths previously, both transformative. The first had been after a yoga class, and it unleashed some stored up pain around a negative sexual experience I’d been holding onto. The second had been downright trippy, my first and only brush with astral projection. David the producer had invited me to it, and midway through, as a bowl screamed above my temple, I left my body, and stayed suspended near the ceiling. The whole meditation lasted an hour and a half but felt like only minutes. I hadn’t experienced anything quite like that since.
Sadly, I didn’t astrally project again with Yogi Fassbender, but I did feel… realigned. With each bowl he played my awareness sharpened, my sense of unity deepened. I wanted him to hold above me longer, for the vibrations to keep penetrating my being. But it soon ended.
“Oh my god, what was that?” Bonnie approached me excitedly.
“I couldn’t understand anything he said,” Daniella remarked. “But the bowls were great.”
“Next time I want to try an all night one! They have them in LA,” I smiled. “There’s a lot of cool stuff in LA I should really check out.”
It was true. While I’d been less than enthusiastic about my home city for several years, LA did have a lot to offer. I mean, I had been the only one in the class who’d done a sound bath. And even if there were superficial people and plastic trees and yoga classes set to Jay-Z, that didn’t mean the astral realm didn’t exist between the 101 and the 405 or that enlightenment couldn’t be found. Just like Vegan Khunnay amidst the riff raff, and Vikasa a stone’s throw from Chaweng, magic existed everywhere.
But I still wanted to move to Byron Bay. And next time I came to Samui, I was definitely spending the whole time at Vikasa. ☺
