I woke up grumpy. I was not sure why. Was it the limited sleep? I was not hungover but my body acted like it was. Was it going out last night? Was it the culmination of my jaded views on tourism and the modern backpacker, ricocheting around my skull along with the increasingly badgering realisations that I am not as creative as I thought? We shall assume all of the above.
This dour mood followed me to breakfast, though the honey roti pancakes were a good antibiotic. I sheltered in the air conditioning until 13:00. A smoothie gave me a boost before my boat tour. Whilst waiting, I befriended Zimmy who was from Poland but lives in London. He was chatty, loud and funny. He was the type of guy who can’t wait for the next work-do. I was dreading the boat tour because of the masses of tourists who do them and the reputation this area of southern Thailand had. These fears were confirmed when we arrived on our longtail boat at the first stop: Monkey Beach.
The fleet of 30 boats (with their dangerous propellers exposed in the water like a friendly meat grinder) was aligned facing a small beach that was, at this moment, suffocating under the weight of zombified tourists who rampaged through the shallows and raked along the sand looking for the promised monkeys like some spoof of the Normandy landings. Our boat was the last to arrive. It made me happy that there were not any monkeys – what animal would enjoy a paparazzi of 300 phones? The beach was small and was surrounded by impassable cliffs, so it was completely up to the monkeys if they wanted to climb down for the tourists. Heavily unionised, the monkeys had decided to take today off.
I nearly missed our boat walking back as I was asked to take a photo of eight enormous Russians. ‘Smile!’ I said, more as a suggestion than a command. No smiles came back. It was a scary photo; an octet of brutes who looked like extras from Peaky Blinders. When I returned the phone I saw how small it suddenly looked in their huge Russian hands. Anyway, delaying our boat by a few minutes had a perk: we were at the end of the boat queue by quite some margin now.
Pi Leh Lagoon was the second stop and it only had a few other tour groups there. The lagoon was hidden from the sea by the vast heights of the cliffs and our mischievous skipper took us inwards to the swimming area. Passing between the cliffs reminded me of the Argonath in The Fellowship of the Ring. The water was emerald. The tide was pulling out and already the level was only at shoulder height. Zimmy showed me how to stand on his shoulders in the lagoon so that Liv could do it on me for a picture that would end up being her lockscreen. Thanks Zimmy! It was a success although I was nearly decapitated by a silent boat moving past. The folks on it, explicitly English, chose to watch me recoil in shock rather than shout ‘watch out!’ as I Matrixed out of its way. By the time we left Pi Leh we were a good hour behind the tour groups that had rushed onto Monkey Beach as if it was Omaha.
Stop three was a snorkel opportunity. Here, in the garden of Viking Cave, I had a pretty good snorkel. However, the required life jacket prevented my free diving, the goggles were too small and the pipe was too short… was it a child’s set? Regardless of my self-induced headache, seeing members of the Tank Gang in their natural home is always a treat and the coral was colourful even in the shade. The water is the best place to be in Thailand.
Moving south the boat was whipped up in the choppy waters that act as a slight obstacle for getting to Maya Bay, the notorious filming location for The Beach. Since the ravages of tourism devastated it, the beach is now incredibly costly to visit; it cost four hundred baht to do the tour but it was an additional four hundred to see Maya Bay. This funds the workers who clean and govern the site, preventing any swimming or littering. Three girls stayed on the boat when we arrived but I never knew why. They might not have brought extra money. This was the place I was most dreading for tourists and felt a pang of guilt for contributing to this violation of nature.
I got off at the pontoon and followed the boardwalk to the beach. Everything was clean and organised to minimise tourists wandering off the path. I was surprised to see that, for once, the environmental fee was put to good use. Maya Beach is undeniably a site for sore eyes. Even at low tide and with a cloudy sky the horseshoe enclosure of limestone created a sense of undisturbed perfection. An hour was allocated to us here and, as we were the last tour group, very soon the whole beach was empty. Empty except for my group and a nursery of reef sharks not forty yards from the shoreline, whirlpooling their Toblerone fins as they played together. Like black Doritos in a blue guacamole, I watched in awe as they swam around catching glimpses of sun on their dark fins. I truly felt the appeal that ‘the beach’ has for Richard in the novel / film; the sense of calm and safety that the cliffs provided was a taste of the sublime. Having this coveted location to just ten of us gave us more money’s worth than any of the other tour groups. The panoramic view was just astonishing. I had beaten the crowds for one of the most crowded places.
With pineapple to keep me going (always cut in the same signature way to look like cogs) and the sun too hidden to set beautifully, I was ready for another swim. We returned near Monkey Beach which was now protected from the tourists by the sharp rocks revealed by low tide that would have breached any hull. Monkeys were indeed now present, searching for food after their long day of strikes. The Thai locals speak of monkeys like naughty pets or giddy cousins who get sugar highs at birthday parties. They are cute yet volatile and to be strictly played with at arm’s length. I prefer this: the monkeys in Ubud and Uluwatu in Bali were nightmare fuel. Few others joined me in the water here; Liv and I get our money’s worth on every trip. Without the life jacket I had flexibility and in the waning light I observed fish finding their holes to spend the night in. The sea urchins bothered me so I avoided them. It began to rain; fresh water on salt water is lovely. Flickers of bioluminscent plankton were visible when I waved my hands around underwater.
I was back by 19:00 and was famished. We said goodbye to Zimmy, exchanging the necessary details to share our photos of the day. At Garlic 1992 I ate spring rolls and pad Thai, elated that the tour had had some breathing space away from the crowds. Garlic 1992 did not have any walls but was popular and tasty.
For A Few Thoughts More 