006. Ko Phayam, and Everywhere Inbetween

5 Mar

Long time, no talk!

We’ve spent the last week or so on Ko Phayam - a little island nestled between the coasts of Thailand and Myanmar. The island itself is mostly jungle, with resorts tucked in and amongst, and beaches wrapping round. It is - objectively - paradise, and also perhaps the last bastion of the original hippies.

Getting up there was a minor slog, via Krabi Town and Ranong, and saw us taking tuk tuks, taxis, buses (no air conditioning God give us strength), slow boats, ferries and motorbikes.

We spent our time as all good islanders would - wandering about, dozing, eating, swimming, snorkelling, and fighting with a wifi connection.

What to talk about?

Perhaps the stray dog situation on Phayam (lots, broadly friendly, some a bit dubious). Or perhaps the mosquito situation (lots, unrelenting, infuriating, painful).

We visited Surin National Park for a snorkelling trip which was a big highlight, despite one of the dives being in a jellyfish soup (harrowing). We saw the most beautiful coral though, and all the fish gang you could hope for. Kes swam with a shoal of barracuda for a bit, and was beside himself with glee.

Along the way we visited two Moken Villages - “The Moken are an Austronesian people of the Mergui Archipelago, a group of approximately 800 islands claimed by both Myanmar and Thailand, and the Surin Islands. Most of the 2,000 to 3,000 Moken live a semi-nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle heavily based on the sea”. They were very sweet, had nice cats, and I bought a new bag woven from old fishing nets.

I had a funky couple of days when we first arrived - a combination of tiredness, heat and hormones I think - and it got us pondering the question of whether it was valid to feel glum in paradise? Is it OK to not be OK on a white sand beach?

My luck was running better than some though - one afternoon whilst meandering about on our scooter we watched a poor girl come flying off hers, straight onto the road and into a ditch. Arguably she brought it upon herself, through some slightly wild driving - in her own words she was “rushing to a meditation class”. We stopped, helped drag the bike back onto the road, washed down her war wounds, strapped our towel round to stop the bleeding and helped her to the local clinic. Her leg was torn up, and looked like a squashed jam sandwich (white bread). Grim.

We visited the infamous Hippie Bar - a monumental feat of engineering straight out of the Glastonbury playbook, run by Thai Rastas, and also Knock Knock Nok - an unassuming beachfront restaurant serving out food that, frankly, was world class. I’m talking food that would be a serious contender for stars and stripes and accolades anywhere in the world. At one point I was rendered speechless by a Massaman curry.

In a twist of logic, we’ve decided to spend the last chunk of our trip back in Lanta, rather than head into a Northern city, so - back on the long bus it is.

Peace & Hippies ☮️

P.S. Hair update for the real ones; have gone for a live and let live approach. It’s currently bright ginger on the ends, dark brown and grey at the roots, and a mass of frizzy curls all over.