Day 21–23 – If “It’s Not My Thing” Means You’re Uncomfortable with Queer Art? We Need to Talk.
Tuesday–Thursday, Nov 18–20 – Days 21–23, Phuket (Cape Panwa Area)
Location: Kanary Bay Hotel (mostly)
Mood: Rain-soaked. Spa-pummelled. Gastrointestinally betrayed — and quietly reminded (again) that I feel safer in queer spaces than I ever do in straight ones.
When the Weather Turns & Your Stomach Turns Faster
There’s a moment in every long trip when the universe gently places her hand on your shoulder and whispers,
“Ma’am… sit down.”
This was that week.
Three straight days of rain rolled in — not cute little raindrops, but the full “sky is throwing gravel” monsoon soundtrack — and right on cue, my stomach decided to join the performance with its daily 1–3 p.m. betrayal window. Predictable. Relentless. A gastrointestinal saboteur with a strict schedule.
But the thing is… the slowdown wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
Somewhere between the rainstorms, the stomach mutiny, and the sudden stillness, I realized something I’ve known for years but rarely say out loud:
I feel more at ease in queer spaces than I do in straight ones.
Maybe it’s the openness. Maybe it’s the lived experience. Maybe it’s the come-as-you-are energy that my nervous system recognizes immediately. Straight spaces often feel like they’re waiting for you to behave “properly”, or waiting for you to mess up, or waiting for you to say or do something wrong. Queer spaces feel like they’re waiting for you to breathe and just be yourself.
And that contrast hit harder this week — tucked inside rain, introspection, and a whole lot of time to think — before the Cabaret show lit that truth up like a disco ball. (We’ll get there.)
For now, picture this:
Four travel-weary humans and one gut-traitor holed up while the sky emptied itself over Phuket.
Good books.
Long chats.
Quiet moments.
Warm rain pooling in the streets faster than the gutters could handle.
A kind of enforced stillness that—against all odds—felt… grounding.
And, of course, just enough chaos to keep things interesting.
Because it’s still Thailand.
Day 21: Spa Chaos, Laundry Men & Questionable Knees
The Facial Fiasco (featuring one excellent cucumber wrap)
Mom and I booked facials while Brent and Steve bravely volunteered for Thai massages — which, if you’ve never had one, are not gentle. They’re basically assisted yoga meets chiropractic adjustment meets consensual body folding. Listening to Steve recap how this tiny woman bent and twisted him like he was a piece of warm taffy? Comedy.
Meanwhile, my facial had… an arc.
We showed up for our pre-booked appointment, and the staff looked genuinely shocked to see us — like four foreigners appearing at once was a plot twist they didn’t see coming. They scrambled to pull enough therapists together, shuffled us into curtained rooms, and got started.
Five minutes in — face cleansed, eye pads on — a man walked in looking for his laundry.
Of course he did.
Everything here doubles as a laundry service. Honestly, as a business owner, I respect the entrepreneurial spirit.
My facialist left me without a word to deal with the laundry saga, made several panicked phone calls, and then… exited the building entirely. Meanwhile, I’m lying there, blindfolded, wondering if I’d been abandoned during my own treatment. After about 15 minutes, I peeled the eye pads off myself and asked Mom’s therapist what was going on. She smiled sweetly, said “Ten minutes,” and kept massaging Mom like nothing was happening.
Eventually, a different woman rushed in and started doing a scrub, then my original therapist reappeared and finished the treatment at lightning speed — skipping entire steps I could hear Mom enjoying right beside me.
The foot massage?
The toe crack?
The extra facial massage?
Baby, my girl pretended I wouldn’t notice. Spoiler…I noticed.
And yet… here’s the truth:
When she did the cucumber wrap, it was lovely. Cooling, soothing, the one moment where I genuinely relaxed and thought, “OK… this part is divine.” It was the highlight, and I’ll give credit where it’s due.
Was the whole thing worth the $23 CAD?
Honestly… yeah.
Would I go back?
Absolutely not.
Did we laugh about it later?
100%.
The rest of the day was quiet — reading, resting, hydrating, and hoping my gut would stop acting like a dramatic Victorian child who swoons at the slightest inconvenience.
It did not.
Simon’s Cabaret: Sequins, Culture Lessons & A Quiet Drag of the Close-Minded
And then — the show.
Let’s get one thing straight (ironically):
Simon Cabaret is not a drag show. Not in the Western sense.
A lot of tourists (me included, before I did my homework) assume it’s “men dressed as women” performing drag numbers. But Thailand’s gender landscape is its own universe — layered, cultural, and absolutely not reducible to Western shorthand.
Here’s the real tea:
Most performers are trans women — kathoey — a Thai term often translated (poorly) as “ladyboy.”
Is “ladyboy” derogatory?
In the West: absolutely.
In Thailand? It depends. Some kathoey claim it proudly; some prefer trans woman; some perform drag professionally and identify as both. It’s nuanced — and Thailand is nothing if not nuanced.
What I can tell you is this:
Whatever label they choose, they are artists. Full stop. And they are spectacular.
On that stage, they were stunning — porcelain-doll faces, gravity-defying wigs, shimmer and sparkle enough to signal planes. Legs for days. Makeup so snatched it could file your taxes.
And the show was electric.
Voguing.
Duck walks (I could never).
Fan snaps.
Synchronized choreo.
High-octane lip-syncs to “Last Dance.”
Acrobatics in heels I wouldn’t last two steps in.
I was in my element — cheering like these performers were my personal heroes, because honestly? They kind of are.
I’ve always had this weird little internal safety sensor — not about people, but about energy. Some spaces make my shoulders climb up to my ears without me fully understanding why, and others instantly feel like home. Queer spaces have always been the latter for me. There’s this openness, this expressive, come-as-you-are vibe that lets my whole nervous system unclench. Not because of labels, but because nothing is policed — not your personality, not your joy, not your edges or softness.
It’s the rigid, rule-bound environments that make my nervous system go ‘nope’. The ones that quietly whisper ‘this is the only right way to be’ — that make me feel unsafe, even if no one says it out loud. Meanwhile, queer spaces radiate freedom and possibility in a way that’s always felt deeply familiar and comfortable to me. I relax there in a way I don’t in spaces that expect conformity.
The rest of the audience?
A sea of tight lips and tepid golf claps.
Which brings me to the thing we need to talk about.
The “Not My Cup of Tea” Crowd (A Short Rant)
As we were leaving (and honestly, in conversations with others who’ve gone), I overheard people — mostly older— muttering:
“Not really for me.”
“I didn’t like it.”
“That kind of show isn’t my thing.”
And look, you’re allowed to have preferences.
Not everyone needs to explode with joy over camp, drag, or queer theatre.
But the tone? It wasn’t giving “I prefer jazz over pop”.
The tone was “I’m uncomfortable and trying not to say why.”
Because what isn’t “your thing”?
Dancing?
Lip-syncing?
Theatrics?
Athleticism?
Costumes?
Art?
Talent?
Precision?
Comedy?
Camp?
Be serious.
When someone watches a stage full of trans women and drag performers absolutely bodying a routine — and the best feedback they can muster is “it’s not my thing”?
I hear what they aren’t saying (and so do the performers).
This is the same energy as:
“I support them… I just don’t want to see it.”
Babe.
Support without visibility is just bigotry in a soft cardigan.
Meanwhile, I was in the back row, practically levitating.
Cheering.
Whooping.
Living my best queer-adjacent fantasy while the rest of the crowd acted like they were watching a municipal zoning meeting.
Honestly?
If the performers had thrown a brick at the audience Paris-Is-Burning style, I would’ve applauded.
Because here’s the truth:
Kathoey performers are icons.
Their artistry, their history, their resilience — it deserves respect, not polite discomfort disguised as personal preference.
So yes, the show was for me.
And if someone says it wasn’t for them?
That’s fine.
But I reserve the right to quietly (or loudly) think:
Maybe broaden your horizons, babe. The world is bigger — and far more sparkly — than whatever tiny box you’re used to.
If Simon Cabaret were closer, I’d go every night. No hesitation.
If you’re coming to Phuket: do not miss this.
Am I oversensitive?
I hope so.
Someone has to be.
Day 23: My Gut’s Villain Era & the Rain That Wouldn’t Quit
By today, the rain was relentless. The kind where the sky looks bruised and the ocean turns metallic. Honestly? Beautiful in its own moody way.
My stomach, however, was entering its villain era.
After a week of predictable 2 p.m. explosions, I finally admitted I was dealing with traveller’s diarrhea. Not dangerous. Not dramatic. Just irritating as hell and timed like a German train schedule.
The pattern is now perfectly clear:
Mornings: fine
Evenings: fine
Snack between 11–1 p.m.: gut says “absolutely not”
1–3 p.m.: chaos
Fat (I’ve established) = the true villain.
My gut will not be gaslit by dairy and processed oils of any kind. Hard stop.
ORS (medical-grade electrolytes) is now a daily must.
Coffee on an empty stomach is banned.
And I’m weirdly proud of myself for staying hydrated and functional while my insides audition for a plumbing commercial.
To kill a few rainy hours, we went to the Phuket Aquarium — from the outside it looks… questionable… but inside? Surprisingly lovely.
Multiple rooms, curved tunnels, glowing tanks, cool crabs, and a massive grouper I swear was the size of a small car. And, of course, my beloved moray eels. I could watch them for hours.
Tonight was Tom Ka Gai (again — comfort food for anxious bowels) and Old Fashioneds at Russell’s Bar, where we are now officially regulars.
Photo of the Day
📸 The icons of Simons Cabaret, of course.
Missed an entry? Catch up here:
👉 Day 1 – The Uber Ride from Hell
👉 Day 2 – The Lounge Life & the Struggle Bus
👉 Day 3 – Hot, Hotter, & Really F*ing Hot
👉 Day 4 – Floating Markets, Boat Noodles & the Great Coke Zero Explosion
👉 Day 5 – Heaven, Hell & the Hands at the White Temple
👉 Day 6 – Hill Tribes, Hard Truths & a Side of Curry
👉 Day 7 – Who Needs Guardrails, Anyway?
👉 Day 8 – Elephant-Sized Moral Hangover
👉 Day 9 – The Great Decaf Drought | Thailand Travel Diary
👉 Day 10 – Rash Decisions & Redemption Arcs | Thailand Travel Diary
👉 Day 11 – The Calm Before the Chaos
👉 Day 12 – Islands, Introspection & the Illusion of Luxury
👉 Day 13 – Fruit, Foot Rubs & Family Conversions
👉 Day 14 – Flip Turns, Weed Bars & Pet Peeves
👉 Day 15 – The Myth of Paradise
👉 Day 16 – Betting on Butter Chicken
👉 Day 17 – Pink Skies, Bad Bellies & Beach Chair Philosophy
👉 Day 18 – Ghost Crabs, Good Reads & Underwater Walkways
👉 Day 19 – Street Meat, Snake Encounters & Sunday Night Magic
👉 Day 20 – Reefs, Morays & a Perfect Long-Tail Day
✈️ Travel Tip of the Day
If a restaurant in Thailand looks mildly terrifying but smells incredible… trust your nose. It has never lied to me once.
Let’s Talk
Have you ever walked into a space and felt instantly safe… or instantly tense?
What’s the energy — or the people — that make you exhale and feel like you don’t have to perform?
