Breathtaking location: Thailand’s tiny Koh Tao island has all the ingredients for a perfect holiday destination.
Some people, given a month or two to cavort around the world, will fill their itineraries with a blur of destinations, experiences and bus rides. I like to slow down so that I can know a place inside out, smell it, feel its heartbeat. That is why, when my partner, Ivan, and I set off for a long getaway, we pinpointed a single destination.
Koh Tao, a tiny speck in the Gulf of Thailand, is known for its inexpensive scuba training and, since Ivan had always wanted to become an expert diver, this was enough of a reason to call this island home for a while.
On the surface, the main town of Koh Tao looks like any Thai holiday hot spot: palms, turquoise water, beach bums sipping Chang beers and charring their skin pink. Hawkers pace the beach with a selection of Ray-Bans; baby-faced backpackers in string bikinis flirt in beachside bars, drinking cocktails from buckets.
But zipping past palm forests, monks and burning incense on our cheap hired scooter, we discovered a much lovelier beach in the south of the island called Chalok Baan Kao. With only a few hotels, restaurants and bars, this side of the island felt like a private retreat. A walk around the bay took us to a secluded beach called Taraporn with basic bungalows right on the sand. For 500 baht a night (about £11), we could fall asleep to a warm breeze off the water, and wake to lapping waves.
After a while we decided to search for a property to rent for several months. The thrill of house hunting turned to frustration after six weeks, but finally Ivan returned from a solo hunt and declared: “I found us a place at the top of a hill!”
It was in a breathtaking location — mostly in what it did to my lungs every time I had to hike up to it. The cottage was magnificently ugly, with a well-loved mattress, a rickety fan, a kitchen devoid of cooking facilities, a cold dribble of water for a shower, a hand-flush toilet, a cast of giant geckos poised in attack-crouches (yes, they bite) and snakeskins left on the doorstep each morning. But its centrepiece made up for all that: French windows opening on to a panorama of sea, sky and beach encased in palm-covered hills.
We paid a month’s rent in cash, and Casa de Reptile was ours. We decorated it with goods from Bangkok’s hellish Chatuchak weekend market, and had some of our own possessions sent over. While Ivan was off diving, I drilled holes, hung curtains and smoothed sheets to create a cottage worthy of a magazine spread. We clinked two cold beers at sunset, celebrating our luxurious retreat with its million-dollar view. The rent? Five dollars a night.
When we weren’t exploring, Ivan studied diving while I worked on my book. The island’s internet connection was generally solid enough to keep a line of communication between me and my book editor in New York. However, upholding professional standards while living on a Thai island was not without its challenges. One evening, while I was in the middle of an interview booked months earlier, a thunderstorm cut off the power supply.
My interviewer was silenced mid-question, and I felt embarrassed at my lack of professionalism until the connection returned … five days later.
We found plenty of other things to do, including yoga, sunset beach runs, and diving. Even for me, with my morbid fear of deep water, the island’s collective enthusiasm for underwater exploration became impossible to resist. After a few days of instruction, I got my open water licence and then did something I thought I’d never do: a night dive in pitch-black water. So much for that phobia.
With more than 40 dive schools, the island sends home around 50 000 certified open-water divers a year, and instructors pour in from all over the world to teach them. Environmental initiatives including underwater clean-up days, long-distance swims for shark conservation and sustainability meetings bring the diving community together. In the evenings we’d gather at a bar for “big Chang” beers and excited chat about who’d spotted a turtle or a whale shark that day.
Babaloo beachside bar in Chalok Baan Kao became our favourite nightspot. Just outside, along the shore, svelte fire-twirlers would throw their flaming sticks into the air, never missing a catch or losing an eyebrow …
To renew our visas for a longer stay we were required to leave Thailand, so we took a train to Vientiane, capital of Laos, and explored the picturesque Bolaven plateau by scooter before returning to Koh Tao.
I’ve travelled in many different ways: from whirlwind trips to meditative, immersive travel. I’ve learned that there is more richness in getting to know one place intimately than many places superficially. Every country has a heart and a soul that you can’t find in a guidebook. As with any relationship, getting to know a place intimately takes patience, mindfulness and time. Give yourself time to be wooed. — © Guardian News & Media 2013
Torre DeRoche’s debut book, Love with a Chance of Drowning, comes out in July. Read about her adventures at fearfuladventurer.com