Koh Ngai, Thailand

To be carefree is endemic to this place.  There’s no where to go, even if you wanted to.  I can’t explain why we’re here - it occurred that we were on a ferry, a bus, a plane (I can’t recall) and a person mentioned a place called Ngai.  Or Hai... the locals can’t decide what to call it.  The island, a gift to a general from the Thai government, has only developed within the last five years as the grandchildren inherited the paradise.

We arrived via ferry and leapt over choppy waves onto a long tail boat, which brought us and our packs to the narrow shore.  There’s nothing on the deserted beach, except for eight unpretentious hotels on the eastern shore, the bungalows all occupied by European newlyweds and retirees escaping the Phuket madness.  The island’s only bar is run by a French couple, along with their 14-year old son who moonlights as a flame thrower and chases after 16-year old bored Swedish girls humiliated to vacation with their parents. 

The electricity is via generator and the water is turned off when the hotel cleans the breakfast dishes.  Crickets high in the palm trees sound their blood curtailing screeches if the air gets too hot.  The moon is new so the extreme spring tides recede 100 meters out to the fertile, shallow, coral reef.  There are no lights on the beach; we use an iPhone app to light our way home.   The turquoise water is home to giant clams and sea cucumbers, but there are no stingers so snorkeling is pleasant.  The tanning regiment has developed with military precision.  The shower water runs through bamboo tubes and footwear (besides sandals) is superfluous.  Boatmen deliver supply boxes once per day if the sea agrees.  At breakfast, the gorgeous Thai girl makes our toast over an open BBQ flame.  The spicy papaya salad burns lips, and like an addict, we cannot stop eating and must suffer the consequences after every meal.  The dial up internet reminds  us of a simpler, less assuming time.

I can’t explain where we’re going.   Someone at the bar last night, under the full moon and reggae music, leaked a tale about an untouched beach.  It’s that island off in the distance... if we can find a fisherman for a lift.... maybe we’ll go in a few days, there’s no rush.