You can tell a lot about a person by how they play Risk.

Maybe everything.

Me, I tend to find some little corner of the world, hole up, and establish a really solid foothold, and then start taking bold risks.

Traveling, living in a completely foreign culture has been the same. I’ve spent an afternoon in Phuket Town, and one full day out on the beaches, but largely, my first five days have been here, on my little street in the middle of the Kathu district in Phuket.

Where I live, there isn’t really a lot happening. Within walking distance, there are two restaurants and one cafe. Depending on the day, there’s a food cart, maybe two. It’s a place normal people live, and tourists have no reason to ever come up here. It’s a perfect spot for me to start, a place to get a foothold, to then be able to make bold moves.

I’ve eaten at the same restaurant for dinner for five nights now, which is ridiculous, except that I’ve had a different dish every night, they have tofu and will substitute it into anything, and they understand and remember that peanuts will kill me. They’re also lovely people, and on top of all that are encouraging and helpful in my efforts to learn Thai. As a result, slightly deeper conversations can start to happen. Last night, we talked about why I don’t eat chicken, pork, or fish. It was a mishmash of thainglish and pointing at the phrasebook, but we understood each other, and that’s what really counts.

When I rode through Patong this weekend, I was shocked by it - a town packed with tourists and shops, overpriced everything (they even took me for $20 for some sunscreen - though at that point, it was probably worth it.) The massage ladies grab your arm as you walk past, voices lilting in siren calls. Drunk bros wander the streets, and old fat white guys walk around with Thai women half their age, or less.

That is not where I live. On my street, I know the three cats, the small pomeranian-ish dog that stays at the cafe, the really shy black collie-looking one that ducks into the garden center, then pokes her head back out once you’ve passed. My street is relaxed, people talking and laughing. In the afternoon, the postman comes by on his bike. Sometimes he delivers to the wrong address. You just take it over to the neighbor’s.

I came here blind. Didn’t know the country, did no real research, just read a couple AirBnB reviews, found one, and hit “reserve.” Somehow, I’ve ended up exactly where I belong.

Every day, for the past ten years, I’ve said the seven vows I live by. The last one is “have faith.” And I do. And it hasn’t steered me wrong.