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April 1, 2005
Pristine islands hard to find prior to tsunami
By MARK WAITE
RANONG, Thailand - My trip to the west coast of Thailand in December was supposed to be about finding a quiet, out of the way beach resort to relax for four weeks, in a region packed with tourists. I ended up being thankful I dodged a disastrous tsunami and being able to view a beautiful, tropical, tourist paradise days before many places were wiped out by the big wave Dec. 26. I took a 12-hour train ride south from Bangkok down the east coast of Thailand Dec. 2 to Surat Thani, a town that had been the jumping off point for trips to Ko Samui, an idyllic island off the east coast back in 1979. A small group of us lucky travelers back then took an overnight boat to the island to relax on white sand beaches, sunbathe in the buff, play volleyball games at sunset and dine on delicious seafood. By my return visit to Ko Samui in 1995, there were direct flights from Bangkok, speed boats from Surat Thani, hotels and guesthouses everywhere - including a couple of hotels with gates and security guards. At night older male European sex tourists looked a little funny snuggling up to young Thai women at the outdoor cafes. In short, "progress" ruined what was once known as a laid back paradise. Backpackers now overtook the neighboring island of Ko Phangan, particularly during the monthly full moon parties on the beach. Ko Tao, another nearby island, is popular for scuba diving. Ko means island in the Thai language. Fortunately it was only three hours by bus from Surat Thani to Krabi, across the narrow Isthmus of Kra on the west coast of Thailand. My good friend in Bangkok, Peter Cannon, who I first met traveling to Ko Samui in 1979, suggested I try Railay Bay, near Krabi. The driver of a pickup truck was at the Krabi bus station to take me to Ao Nang, where numerous longtail boats - so-called because of the long shaft extending from the motor to the propeller - were waiting along the beach. A driver with a Che Guevara cap took me around the spectacular cliffs of the peninsula to the beaches near the headlands. I waded ashore onto West Railay Beach, where soaring cliffs book-marked both ends of the white sand beach, a more spectacular setting than Sugarloaf in Rio de Janeiro or Diamondhead in Honolulu. A short walk led to the cheaper guesthouses on East Railay Bay. A woman offered me a guesthouse for 300 baht, $7.50 U.S. Besides being popular with sunbathers, the Railay Bay area is one of the most popular spots in the world for rock climbing. I could've taken an introductory course for a half-day for $20. Numerous rock-climbing students could be seen walking along East Railay Bay, next to a bar called, appropriately, The Rock. The nearby cliffs were lit up at night for bar patrons. Besides the short walk to West Railay Bay, the throngs of beachgoers walked along the sidewalk through more cliffs to Phranang Beach, another beautiful setting framed by cliffs. Most stopped to take photographs of the monkeys on the way. Fishermen made offerings to a heavily decorated shrine in a cave on Phranang Beach. My friend must have visited the beaches during the off-season. During the December high season, they were too congested. The sound of the noisy longtail boats disgorging more tourists on day trips from Ao Nang, near Krabi, was constant throughout the day, almost like a busy weekend on the Colorado River. Vendors were on the beach selling everything from pineapple and beer to corn-on-the-cob to sarongs to wooden flutes. I was amazed at the number of Swedish tourists; there were an estimated 30,000 Swedes on Christmas vacation on the west coast of Thailand when the tsunami struck Dec. 26, more than 2,000 are still missing. It was possible to walk at low tide around the rocky outcropping from West Railay Beach over to Tonsai Beach, also ringed by mountains. Tonsai Beach was a hangout for the hippie crowd, people who looked like they'd stand out in a crowd elsewhere, with long dreadlocks or lots of tattoos and body piercings. A 4:30 p.m. yoga class was in session in what resembled a boxing ring on the beach. Sundown was fast approaching and the tide was rising. I asked someone how to get through to West Railay Bay. When he told me it was no problem, I was just to walk over these boulders, then through a narrow crevasse, I failed to consider the source I was talking to, one of the rock climbers on the beach waiting to scale a cliff. The hike was a little trickier to an inexperienced rock climber. After almost a week, the noisy boats and pesky vendors became a little intolerable. My guesthouse front clerk wrote me a ticket for a boat to Ko Lanta to the south, an island recommended by a fellow traveler from Arizona. A longtail boat shuttled passengers out to a southbound ferry that left Phuket at 8 a.m. that morning, arrived off Railay Bay at 10:30 a.m., then arrived in Ko Lanta at 12:30 p.m. Though there were 120 seats inside the Ao Nang Princess, only three people sat inside, the rest sunned themselves on the decks for the two-hour ride. My Arizona friend must have visited Ko Lanta a while ago. This time, when I arrived, a few boats packed with passengers were leaving and arriving at the dock. Representatives of dozens of guesthouses lined up at the pier with signs beckoning people to stay at their place. Klong Nin Beach halfway down the beach was still undeveloped enough to be pleasant. This far south the local population was primarily Moslem, women wearing Moslem headscarves brought my food to the table overlooking the sea. Alcoholic drinks weren't on the menu either, however wait staff quickly could summon someone from a neighboring bar to deliver a beer to my table. Bars were conveniently always located next door, about like having to order drinks separately from a cocktail waitress in America. A young Thai Rasta at the Drunken Monkey Bar put on a fire show at night, using an iron bar dipped in gasoline at both ends. One side trip for people who tired of the beach was an elephant ride to a nearby waterfall for $20. But a couple of the pachyderms didn't look all that healthy while the mahoot, or elephant trainer, was washing them down in the afternoon and feeding them bananas. I took a four-island tour that my guesthouse operators were aggressively promoting. For 500 baht, $12.50, several of us tourists were taken on a cheap longtail boat and were splashed much of the time by sea spray through a torn plastic sheet in the bow. While a tourist map of Ko Lanta listed 79 hotels and guesthouses on the west coast as far south as Klong Nin Beach, south of there, the view by boat was of almost deserted beaches nearer the south end of the island. The tour included a stop off rocky islands like Ko Ngai for some mediocre coral reefs, Ko Chuek to swim among the tropical fish attracted by the chum tossed by the crew, then the highlight of the day, a visit to the Emerald Cave on Ko Muk. Passengers had to hold hands to link up as we swam through the dark Emerald Cave to emerge into a hole in the rock with a beautiful, tropical setting that seemed to make couples get romantic during a swim. The guide said pirates used to hide their booty at the spot, later it was used to collect bird nests for bird's nest soup. The final stop was a visit to Ko Kradan, with a beautiful white sand beach. Late afternoon rains from the tail end of the rainy season the first 10 days of December had let up thankfully. A young Swedish boy however was vomiting on the way back in the rough seas. I didn't hear much in the news about the tsunami affecting Ko Lanta; perhaps it was too far south to bear the brunt of the waves. But it was clearly too built up for my liking. I arranged to visit Ko Jum, (pronounced Jam), where I was told it was a place to get away from it all. A longtail boat sent by the owner of Coconut Green View Resort on Ko Jum met the ferry boat back to Krabi I was the only passenger on my longtail boat, though a couple boats from other guesthouses picked up passengers. I asked a British woman boarding the ferry what Ko Jum was like. "It's the best island yet," she replied. I felt a little guilty, letting other passengers on the ferry hear about the island. Word of mouth spreads like wildfire among travelers, converting quiet beach destinations into major resorts in a few years. Once ashore on a palm-lined beach a little more than an hour after leaving Ko Lanta, I asked a girl at the restaurant if there was a fan or electricity in my $5 per night cabana. She answered with just a smile, unable to speak much English. When I clicked on a light switch nearby, she indicated electricity provided by a generator would come on at 6 p.m. Instead of reggae or western music, Thai music was playing on the stereo. The staff mixed up the dinner orders. The lights were alternating between bright and dim as the generator sputtered, minor irritations but good signs that this was an undeveloped beach resort. Two young British women were having dinner at my guesthouse. One of them asked the inevitable question for such undiscovered paradises, "how did you find out about this place?" I explained I was checking out whatever islands I could get to by boat. Days were pretty quiet, listening to the occasional thud of a coconut falling on the beach, or watching crabs scurrying around the sand. Two Swedish couples joined in afternoon volleyball games with the short Thai women from the resort. One day the longtail boat owner took us for a ride to Ko Lohla, a small island offshore with a tiny beach on a point, a deserted fishing shack and an amusing sign that read, "New York 12,330 kms., Tokyo 3,260 kms." The boat owner speared a colorful grouper. Ko Jum was really lacking in tourist services however, like an ATM, though there was one Internet operator on the dirt road in the middle of the island, operating under a thatch roof with a generator providing power. So it was back to Ao Nang to withdraw money and buy supplies. It was a very personal farewell, as the staff at Coconut Green View lined up to shake our hands as we departed. The guesthouse owner on Ko Jum owned one of the tour boats that departed Ao Nang for Ko Phi Phi; she arranged to get me a half-price day tour for $12.50. Little did I know six days later, a devastating tsunami would practically wipe out that island. The tour would've easily been worth $25. We left Ao Nang at 9 a.m., stopping for some good snorkeling off a beautiful beach on Bamboo Island, visiting another dive spot after that, then an hour on Monkey Beach on Ko Phi Phi Leh, where most sunbathers were busy snapping photos of the monkeys who came down for treats on a spectacular white sand beach backed by mountainous jungle. We stopped off for lunch at Ko Phi Phi Don, a narrow spit of beach connecting the two halves of the dumbbell-shaped island. It was littered with so many shops, restaurants and guesthouses I could barely maneuver through it to find the beach on the bay on the other side of the narrow strip. People sat in rented beach chairs three rows deep, like on crowded European beaches. Ko Phi Phi was the second most popular destination on the west coast after Phuket. The movie "The Beach," starring Leonardo di Caprio, was filmed on Maya Beach on Ko Phi Phi, another awesome white sand beach in the jungle that was our last stop. The rocky cliffs of the tiny islands offshore looked familiar from the James Bond movie "Man With The Golden Gun," also filmed near here. The bay along one side of Ko Phi Phi Don now resembled one big boat basin. The tour agent mentioned Ko Phi Phi was one of the 10 most beautiful islands in the world. I told a British woman as we went back to Ao Nang to pinch me, I couldn't believe I was seeing such beautiful spots. Hopefully when it is rebuilt the virtual shopping mall that went up in the center of the island won't be so congested. Back in Ao Nang the mostly Swedish tourists sported beautiful tans, but acted rather reserved as they dined on tasty seafood. I wonder how many are dead today? A sign at the Ao Nang Grand Hotel noted it was only four days to Christmas. It was also five days to the tsunami. I decided to skip Phuket, where 4 million visitors annually pack the beaches, making it Thailand's top tourist destination. It was only a small beach resort when I visited in 1979. I also researched online Khao Lak, north of Phuket, but gave up the idea after seeing the names of luxurious resorts like Sofitel and Le Meridien. It's ironic, the most expensive resort areas like Phuket, Khao Lak and Ko Phi Phi, were the ones hit the worst by the tsunami. Instead I took a six-hour bus ride through the rubber plantations and three police checkpoints to the town of Ranong, on the Burmese border. Some foreigners came here on "visa runs," crossing by boat into Burma, now known as Myanmar, where they would quickly return to Thailand, getting a fresh 30-day stay in Thailand. Only one other foreigner actually got off in Kawthung, on the much poorer Burmese side. The pot-holed streets of Kawthung had red stains from the betel nut spit out by the Burmese; the men wore Asian sarongs instead of western clothes, the women put mud packs on their face and smoked cigarillos called cheroots. The boat driver walked up to the primitive Burmese immigration building on stilts over the water to get our documents stamped. There are two islands just offshore of Ranong that also seemed to fit the bill for a laid-back beach resort. When a Swiss tourist on Ko Jum began to boast about them, his German girlfriend tried to hush hum up, to keep word from spreading. I first visited Ko Chang, the same name as a larger, more popular island on the east coast. A hard-packed black sand beach in the middle wasn't too attractive, but nice sandy beaches were on both ends of a long bay. Virgin jungles highlighted by a mountain in the middle of the island were good sites for day treks. The staff at the Full Moon Bungalows was mostly Burmese. They cooked up a complimentary Christmas Night buffet for the guests, although some young German guys were more interested in having a full moon party of their own later that evening, dancing inebriated to monotonous techno music. The music thankfully petered out about midnight when the gas in the generator ran out. The fateful day, Dec. 26, I took a boat back to Ranong since an advertised boat service direct from Ko Chang to neighboring Ko Phayam, only a few miles away, was rather unreliable. The 7:30 a.m. boat from Ko Chang got me into Ranong Pier in time for the 9 a.m. departure back out to Ko Phayam. We arrived on a pier on the east coast of Ko Phayam, where a woman was waiting with a sign for Smile Hut Bungalows. I hopped on the back of a motorcycle with my bags for a four-mile ride on a sidewalk to the west side of the island, but the motorcycle broke down, and the woman soliciting business for the bungalow picked me up. When she arrived on the beach, stepped off the motorcycle and started walking toward the bungalows, she eyed up the big waves rolling ashore, dropped my bags in the sand and ran inland. The Andaman Sea had been so tranquil, I e-mailed my friend Peter in Bangkok to advise him he didn't need to find a place here with a swimming pool for his seven-year-old twin daughters to swim, they could swim in the sea without any worries over rough surf. The big waves on Ko Phayam only flooded the closest huts to the beach. A few people came up the beach a little later that afternoon telling me to evacuate, another big wave was coming in three hours. I was sunbathing, unaware what a catastrophe had occurred to the south. Only an occasional big wave washed my things in the surf. The guesthouse owner was listening to the radio broadcasts, but they were all in Thai, he said there was a major earthquake in Indonesia and Burma. The owner said in his limited English there were no tsunamis in Thailand. The lack of communication was frustrating; a short-wave radio might have helped. I picked up my belongings from the cabin after the warnings and walked inland, but a few hours later near sunset I walked back to the beach to have a tsunami party with several beachgoers who didn't spend the night at a school in the middle of the island. A young American tourist with a Rasta hairdo was excitedly talking about how he pulled a few motorcycles from the surf in the morning as Thais occasionally rode up the beach. Things calmed down the next day, but we were told to evacuate the next night during high tide at least 200 meters inland (about 660 feet) as a precaution, to the Banana Bar, where tourists had a low-key party. On Dec. 28 I headed back to Bangkok. I snatched up about the only copy of the Bangkok Post in Ranong and was shocked to read about the devastation so close by. More than 5,300 people have been confirmed dead from the Dec. 26 tsunami on the west coast of Thailand, more than 8,000 injured and 3,000 still missing. Almost exactly half of the confirmed deaths were foreign tourists. I could've been one of them. While Phuket had 230,000 international arrivals by plane in the first few weeks of January 2004, that number fell 88 percent in the first few weeks of 2005, after the tsunami. Only 10 percent of the 35,000 hotel rooms in Phuket were occupied in January 2005. Khao Lak resorts a little farther north were virtually obliterated. I wondered whether developers would rebuild with a healthier respect for the power of the sea that I had acquired, or whether greed would again lead to overbuilding. Thai newspaper articles talked about a tsunami warning system with loudspeakers along the beach. But I wondered if tourists would feel completely safe again relaxing on the beach, not knowing if another wave would strike. |
