Beaches and Islands of Southern Thailand

The beaches of Southern Thailand are some of the most beautiful in the world.  Lush limestone cliffs are surrounded by a turquoise sea.  Emerald bays are dotted with longtail boats.  Our visit brought us to the Province of Krabi where our explorations led us through the warm waters of the Andaman Sea.

From our base in Krabi town we usually hired a boatsman to take us to our destination of the day.  Many of the beaches on the mainland are only accessible by boat.

The Railay Peninsula is a 45-minute boat ride from Krabi town.  Even though it is connected to the mainland, it might as well be an island, as it is cut off from the rest of Thailand by a large limestone massif. There is no vehicular traffic on the peninsula.  Pedestrian paths connect the three major beaches. 

Ao Phra Nang is the prettiest beach we visited, but also the most crowded.  Longtail boats line up along the waterside waiting for customers.  Hundreds of sun-worshipers pad the sand.

A tall limestone outcrop overhangs a shallow cove.  The beach is perfect to swim in.  There are very few waves and the sea is comfortably warm.

It is interesting to walk along the beach and observe the variety of swimmers and sun-bathers, ranging from the near-naked European to the modestly-dressed (in long shirt, long pants, and hijab) Muslim.

Phranang Cave, named after the Goddess of Love, is a shrine located on the beach.  For generations, local people, fisherman, and navigators have left offerings to the Goddess (or Princess), that she might protect their livelihood and fulfill their wishes.  In addition to flowers and incense, votees often leave a lingam gift, which is a phallus carved in wood.  It is believed that this will bring fertility.

Long-tailed macaques thrive on the peninsula.  We found these cute scavengers on the pathway between Ao Phra Nang and East Railay. 

Just a ten minute walk from Ao Phra Nang, East Railay is less exotic than the other beaches.  It is often the docking point for boats coming from Krabi town.  When we passed through at low-tide, the shore was a muddy mess. 

Just a few minutes along a shady path of palms will bring you to West Railay, which some consider the most beautiful beach on the peninsula.

Although there are many resorts and bungalows surrounding this beach, most of them are not visible through the thick tropical forest.  There are a handful of small shops along a sandy boardwalk.

A line of longtail boats await the traveler, as it is the only way to leave the peninsula.

Ao Nang is just a ten minute boat ride from West Railay.  Although considered not as impressive as its neighbors to the south, Ao Nang Beach is very picturesque.

Of all the beaches heretofore mentioned, Ao Nang has the widest offering of restaurants and souvenir shops.  We even found a massage parlor that aims to get rid of your sunburn (which we desperately needed)!

Like all the other beaches, longtail boats line up to be used at a moments notice.

A common means to arrive or leave Ao Nang is by songthaew, a pickup truck with benches in the bed that will hold about eight or ten people. 

The waters beyond Ao Nang are dotted with islands.  Some have room for tiny beaches, while others are nothing but a limestone column protruding from the sea.

Finding a tour of the islands is easy.  Any hotel or travel office with have a plethora of choices. We shared a boat with several other tourists like ourselves. 

Our package included snorkeling, which was a first for me.  Jenelle got stung by a jelly fish.

Tup Island fascinated me as we circled around it.  It is two tiny knobs connected by a sliver of a beach.

Chicken Island, or Ko Po Da Nok, is probably the most recognizable of the land masses in this area.

No vessel would be complete without a little Thai pride.

The majestic Ko Ma Tang Ming.

Our tour brought us back to Ao Phra Nang, which was our favorite beach.  The sun moved quickly toward the horizon, creating a majestic sunset that transformed the limestone karsts into silhouettes. 

It was one of the most magical evenings of my entire life.  Most of the tourists on the beach sat down toward the sea and watched in awe.

This would be our last visit to the sea on this trip.  Jenelle and I reminisced on the day and relished our final evening.

At last, the sun went down and darkness moved in.  We got back on the boat and moved through the warm south Asian air, watching the distant lights on the shore.  Jenelle and I sat on the helm and felt the sea breeze through the dark of night.  

We disembarked one last time and all gathered around to watch an islander throw flames. ♠

Ko Klang

We paid the man seven baht as we boarded the longtail boat. Villagers from the island use the boats to buy groceries in Krabi town. One lady that stepped into the boat after us held two bags full of food, and another carried a basket. Next to us on the dock, another longtail had a small ramp folded down from the stern for men to load their motor bikes, to ferry across the river.

As we cast off, a dark-faced male with wavy black hair, collared t-shirt and sandals sat at the aft of the boat and controlled the prop. March is almost the hottest month of the year in Thailand and this day fulfilled expectations. A slight coolness in the breeze as we skimmed forward felt welcoming, as did the occasional drop of water splashed up as the boat pushed through the river.

I was curious as to what lied ahead. Ko Klang is not usually on the destination map of those headed to the Krabi Province in the southern depths of Thailand, some 400 miles south of Bangkok. Many of the island's 4,000 residents cross the river to engage in employment brought by tourism in Krabi town. After work, they return to their sleepy hamlet and see very few tourists, except those who wander off the beaten path, like ourselves.

Our ride across the river gave us a closer view of the port of the village than we had yet to see. Shanty houses came right to the water's edge, many of them on stilts and hovering over the river. Every edifice appeared to be constructed of wood, painted various colors; roofs were sometimes supplemented with corrugated metal sheets, and eaves extended well over the walls of the house. The waters here were a murky brown from the stir of activities around the pier. A man waded up to his chest as we approached the dock, which was nothing more than a wooden ramp whose lower end disappeared into the water. The interior of Ko Klang was still a mystery to us, as it was shielded by a jungle of trees.

As we touched with the dock, the man driving the prop jumped out and tied a rope from the boat to a post and wrapped it around snugly and fastened a knot. He helped us over the gunwale and we walked up the wooden ramp and through a wooden shade house where the people who sat on the benches all looked at us, knowing we were not one of them. A couple of men offered us rides on their mopeds, using very basic English. We declined, wanting to enjoy the journey on our feet.

There are no cars in Ko Klang. Only motor bikes, pedestrian traffic, and the tuk-tuk, which is a motor bike with a cart attached to the side. Cement paths throughout the village were smaller than a one-lane road, and traffic was sparse to say the least. It was normal to go five or ten minutes without a passerby.

Although Ko Klang is designated as an island, it isn't in the same mold as your other islands of Southern Thailand such as Phi Phi and Phuket. According to one local man, there is only one beach and it is too far away to walk and very trashy. Also, the island is not completely surrounded by ocean, but mostly rivers and inlets. The indigenous mangrove tree occupies about a third of the island, while the rest has been carved out by man and is used as dwelling and farmland, including many rice fields.

Upon leaving the pier and gradually coming upon the village by means of the pathway, there was a large sign with pictures and words to the drifting tourists like ourselves. So that there was no confusion, the sign stated bluntly that no alcohol, drugs, pigs, dogs, nor immodesty were allowed on the island. You see, Ko Klang, unlike much of the rest of Buddhist Thailand, is ninety-eight percent Muslim. This tends to reflect the influence of Malaysia, which isn't too far to the south. The people here (I believe) have a different look to them that slants away from the Asian appearance found in Bangkok. The women keep their heads covered with a hijab, and the men (with the exception of some working near the water) dress modestly with pants and shirt.

Most of the homes rested on stilts, probably a measure against a tsunami. Animals appeared to wander freely and snack on forage near the homes. We saw roosters, cats, goats, and what appeared to be a water buffalo tied to the post of a house. It is interesting that most of the homes had at least two or three bird cages dangling from the porch―I don't know the significance. Laundry was also left to dry alongside pots and pans used for cooking. We saw a sink used for washing dishes on one porch, with a PVC pipe running away to drain the water, obviously a sign of no indoor plumbing.

Some villagers would sell fruit or drinks from the front of their homes. Often this was a rather a humble person who spoke no English, with very few customers for the day. One lady stopped on her moped to sell us pineapple on a stick and a small bag of popcorn. She carried all her goods on a cart attached to the bike. She spoke little English, but left with a smile when we bought her goods.

After roaming the outskirts of the village, not knowing the location of the center, we asked around to several people for the whereabouts of the mosque. We thought they would know what we were asking, but time after time, we got a blank look and a shake of the head. At length, one man understood our query and pointed just up the pathway to a low-lying building that hid behind the trees from our angle. This was the mosque.

I had expected the mosque to be somewhat grandiose. It was not. The simple cement structure had white walls and an ocean-blue onion dome on top, with peeling paint. Atop the dome, perched like a weather vane, was the crescent moon, symbol of the Muslim world. A motor bike parked in front, although we saw no one come in or out. I walked to a front portico, knowing I couldn't go inside, and observed the finely polished indigo tiles—by far the most exquisite feature outside the mosque. One lone sign near the entrance read something in Thai script that I didn't understand.

We arrived at a fish farm, which is an occasional stop for tourists who do boat tours from Krabi town. Access is gained via a backdoor inlet of the Krabi River, crawling through eerie mangrove forests, and docking next to the farm, completely circumventing the rest of the village. We were already familiar with this nook of Ko Klang from our boat ride the day before. We stopped here for about thirty minutes while a young Thai man pulled different exotic fish from wooden tanks for us to touch and take pictures.

Although it was the day before, I should mention something of the large mangrove forests that surround Ko Klang. We came through at low-tide when the roots of the trees stood up as if on tip-toes, and appeared almost as large spiders, the roots tangling with themselves as they drooped into the water. The branches above us created a canopy that blocked most of the sky. A trio of long-tailed macaques swung from one branch to another, proving very difficult to spot through the jumble of limbs. The water sat strangely still, and I half-expected something to lung from its depths and snap at us.

Immediately exiting the forest we came upon the fish farm, which consisted of several wooden huts, some on stilts and others floating on the water. Roofs thatched with palm leaves covered the huts, and some of these roofs had tires resting on top, supposedly to keep the fronds from blowing away. Although a “tourist stop” for some day-trippers, our small group of eight people were the only ones there at that moment. The buildings around the fish farm tended to be better kept than those elsewhere in the village, some with grass yards.

As we meandered to the fish farm from the mosque, it appeared exactly as it did the day before, still very quiet and not many people in view. We found a Muslim lady at a sink washing dishes.

Our purpose in revisiting this area was to find a bite to eat, as the day before left us no time for such an endeavor. We sat at the only restaurant we knew of, a shaded, open-air structure that floated on the water. I ordered salted fish curry, and Jenelle, fried rice. When the boy brought our food, I couldn't believe the size of the bowl and the saltiness of the fish. In addition to the strong flavor, I found the texture to be very woody, including very fibrous kaffir lime leaves. When we finished and had no more room within us, they brought out large wedges of watermelon. We ate what we could and spat the seeds into the water.

After our meal we walked back toward the pier, following a different route. We passed more of the same: shanty huts on stilts, roosters roaming the yard, and the occasional motor bike purring by. Oh how I wished that I wasn't a tourist and could walk inside a home to see how they really lived. We saw shoes placed near the threshold of a door, in typical Thai fashion in respect for the home, but what remained inside was a mystery to us. What of the smells, the food, the furniture, the religious emblems, and people?

We passed a worn-down dirt field with grass and trees growing around it. On each side was a small frame of a soccer goal, without net and very rusty. This was their playing field, the bare-minimum by most standards, but probably all they needed. Although no one was on it at this time, the weeds in the center were worn from being trampled upon and used.

Our wanderings of nearly four hours brought us back to the pier where we didn't have to wait long to catch a longtail back to Krabi town. By now the large sun had traveled directly above us, and the sweltering humidity took the edge off of any romantic notions of being in a tropical island village. As I embarked, I asked the boatman the price of crossing the river in his vessel.

“Twenty-five baht,” he said, in broken English.

The price had more than tripled. This was because there were fewer people to share the boat, he said. No importance either way. The boatman started his engine and slowly guided us away from Ko Klang. ♠ 

Krabi Town

The limestone pinnacles of Khao Khanap Nam are iconic landmarks of Krabi Town.

My favorite place to experience the essence of Krabi Town is on the terrace of my hotel, looking over the estuary at sunrise. The sun is barely creeping over the mangrove trees, casting an orange hue onto the water. The long-tail boats and boatmen that guide the props are still silhouettes.

Boat traffic is already at a buzz at this early hour, mostly workers crossing the river from Ko Klang. I can see the shanty houses on stilts and business at the pier. A small crowd of Muslims in along-tail boat are coming across to Krabi.

Beyond Ko Klang I can see bulky mountains. Upriver are the mangrove forests and the limestone outcrops of Khao Khanap Nam.

Below is a walkway that hugs the river and is a pleasant place to walk in the morning. It is a place to see families having picnics on the grass, or young boys with their fishing lines cast into the water. Sometimes there are monkeys climbing in trees.

Krabi Town is located some 450 miles south of Bangkok on the Malay Peninsula, at the edge of the Krabi River estuary, and just around the corner from the Andaman Sea. There is a different feel here, a more laid-back feel, and the people (in my opinion) have a different look to them: darker-skinned, less Chinese-Asian, and more Malaysian. There is certainly a larger Muslim population here, but not all are Muslim.

Often, Krabi Town is used as a base, or place to stay while visiting nearby sites such as Railay Beach or Ao Nang in the Krabi Provence. Yet the town has a mood of its own that is refreshing.

Gliding through the mangrove forest.

During our stay, we choose a tour that includes a visit to the mangrove forests. We board a long-tail boat with six other tourists, a boatman, and a guide with long black wavy hair that makes him look like an islander.

With great balance and dexterity, the boatman guides us upriver and into one of the many branches and soon we are surrounded by a canopy of mangrove trees. We are at low-tide, so the roots are exposed and it appears as if the trees are standing tip-toed. The boatman turns off the engine and we glide through an eerie, yet beautiful scene. At the top of the trees a trio of monkeys play Tarzan from one tree to the next.

Navigating further upriver, we arrive near the two limestone outcrops of Khao Khanap Nam that flank each side of the river. The only way to get here is by boat. We walk a short distance along a sandy trail and then up a staircase and enter into a large cave of stalagmites. The air becomes damp and we can hear our echoes when we speak.

Replica of a 43,000 year old skeleton at Khao Khanap Nam.

Display boards tell some of the history of this cave, as well as other caves along the shoreline. Evidence such as skeletons, shells, seeds, and stone tools have been found in this and nearby caves, showing that 27,000 to 43,000 years ago, prehistoric man was living here. These are some of the oldest objects found in southeast Asia.

More recently, during World War II, the Japanese forces entered Krabi Province, and many boats were anchored at Krabi Town. These caves were used as shelters or residence for some of the soldiers.

These weren't the only ancient finds in the area. A fossil, consisting of the right upper jaw with five teeth and the right lower jaw with two teeth, was found at a lignite mine in Krabi Provence. It is believed that the fossil is nearly forty million years old and one of the oldest ancestors of human beings.

One can't help but to notice that Krabi Town is proud of this discovery. A couple of major intersections in town have four hulking sculptures of anthropoid apes above the the traffic lights.

Krabi Town is very laid back. There is no sense of urgency. Sunday morning comes and we find ourselves loitering around town while waiting for our seven island snorkeling tour.

We are hungry and come upon a store-front that has a sign with a breakfast menu. It also advertises fruit shakes and drinks. A small table with chairs is set up in front. Most of the store sells merchandise such as wooden elephants, Buddha statues and the like.

A lady comes and we order our meal using clear and articulated English. I've come to learn that although it seems that everyone in Thailand speaks some English, no one seems to speak it fluently; and especially not the older generation.

I order two fried eggs with toast, and a banana pancake with chocolate syrup. I haven't decided yet if this is what Thai's really eat for breakfast, or if they are just catering to the tourists. Jenelle and I both order a pineapple-mango shake (which is made from 100% fruit; no ice cream, and very delicious).

After ten minutes, she brings out my eggs and toast, Jenelle's breakfast, and one pineapple-mango shake. We finish our entire meal and are still waiting for the rest.  The lady has returned to the back and we can hear clanging metal from the stove, and we linger, hoping that she is finishing our meal. It is not until her son comes out, who speaks slightly better English, that we are able reorder our food to complete our meal.

Five minutes later, one pineapple-mango shake and one large banana pancake with chocolate syrup are brought to our table. We enjoy, but realize that we probably ordered too much!

Southern Thailand's version of the tuk-tuk.  It is a common mode of transportation.

Later on another day, I decide to take a long walk to see how Krabi appears on foot. Jenelle decides to stay in the hotel because it is about a hundred degrees outside and the humidity has us sweating like dogs. (Keep in mind that it is only the month of March!)

I mosey along the walkway that parallels the river, past the boat dock for Railay Beach, past the giant crab statue. It is low-tide now and the river has shrunk in size, with sand bars on both sides. A floating restaurant is resting lop-sided in mud. The twin pinnacles of Khao Khanap Nam are prominently in view.

I cross Utarakit Road and leave the river, and continue several blocks inland away from the hustle and bustle. My first stop is the Andaman Art Museum.

I have no other reason to go here other than to check it out. Before I even walk in the door, a lady stops me and instructs on how to visit the museum. Apparently you start in one building and work your way systematically through several others until you've returned to the gift shop. The first three, she warns, have no air-conditioning. “You keep your shoes on!” she adds with a smile.

The first building is devoted to beads, and the history of beads in Southern Thailand. She's right about the air-conditioning. It feels like a brick oven in here! Sweat is dripping down my cheek.

I am the only person in the “bead room” and each station has an audio recording to teach the visitor. I press the button and a dialog emerges from the speakers in Thai. Luckily, the signs are in both Thai and English.

Can this elaborate style of kite really fly?

Artist's depiction of Khao Khanap Nam at the Andaman Art Museum.

One room that fascinates me is the kite exhibition. These kites are like none other that I've ever seen. They are made with a bamboo frames, are very large with elaborate designs, and sometimes have wooden fish or other trinkets attached to them. Of course I can't touch or lift them up, but I wonder how light they really are. Can they really fly? Is this what the historical kite of Thailand looked like? Or are they just for decoration? (Later I attempt to ask a lady in the gift shop this exact question, and our communication falls dead at the language barrier.)

The final building (and well air-conditioned!) is the art exhibit. This gallery takes up three stories of photographs and paintings, most focused on local genre.

I return to the sultry outside air and walk south on Maharad Road. I go inside a small store and buy a pineapple Fanta for 15 baht. Like all the refrigerated drinks I've had in Thailand, it is only lukewarm. They give me a straw and I sip as I walk.

The songthaew is the form of taxi used in Southern Thailand.

Two lanes of traffic buzz in each direction. There are no tourists here. Locals sit in the doorways and chat in singsong accents.

I pass the intersection with the ape statues. Last night we ate at a noodle stand just around the corner.

Across the street, there is a large block of dense trees with no development. Curiously, I walk toward it and find a stone path that leads into a growth of trees. Soon I am in a jungle, rather than the hubbub of Krabi Town. There are periodic signs along the path, but only in Thai. I would guess that they are identifying the trees.

At length I hear a commotion of laughing and splashing. As I approach, I notice a hidden water hole where boys are swinging off ropes and jumping off trees into the water. I can only catch glimpses as palm fronds and other branches block most of my view.

Pulling out my camera and seeing the opportunity for a good candid picture, I tiptoe diagonally forward for a better view, but my not so stealthy feet crunch the dry ground and quickly, all the laughing and splashing stops, and the boys retreat out of sight.

I wait for thirty seconds, but decide that they will not resume until I'm gone. I begin to walk away when one of the boys swims out into the open, looks at me and yells out, “No, no!” in meager English. Again, he yells out, “No, no!” and holds up two hands to form a box. He is telling me to take no pictures. I humbly comply and walk away.

Wat Kaew Korawaram in Krabi Town.

I follow the stone path back to civilization and continue around the corner to the base of Wat Kaew Korawaram, the main Buddhist temple in Krabi Town. The temple is a beautiful white building perched on a hill, with a naga staircase leading up the hill. (I learned that a naga is a diety in the form of a great snake, originating from the Sanskrit word for cobra.)

A rooster ambles around the grounds, while a gardener cares for flowers. I remove my shoes and step inside the main hall where I reverently admire the mural on the wall and the statue of Buddha. Offerings of fruit and flowers have been placed at the foot of the shrine. An Asian family is in the room also and they huddle together for a family picture with the Buddha in the background.

My favorite time in Krabi Town is at night. This is when the sleepy city comes alive.

We have counted three different night markets here: one on the weekend, one during the week, and the smallest one, Chao Fa, is every night.

As with most markets in Thailand, you can find about anything: clothing, crafts, sarongs, plants, and of course, food—and lots of it! It is here that we tried coconut ice cream and purple sticky rice rolled in a banana leaf and grilled over coals.

For many of the vendors at the market, this is a family affair. Every night we saw a group of children (probably siblings) who played percussion instruments for money. They sat huddled together in the middle of the crowded market, and on a signal from an adult, they began pounding away and producing very good music.

Another little girl at the end of the street dressed in a costume that I believe comes from the hill tribes, and posed and stretched and contorted in aerobatic positions, of course with a coin bucket in front of her. On the following night a different girl with an identical costume, similar-looking face, but just a couple years older, performed at the same location. They were obviously sisters making money for Mom and Dad.

The spiny "jackfruit" has a yellow interior.

Tonight we opt for the smaller market of Chao Fa, which is right next to the river and much more relaxed. Here the vendors have set up their carts along the street and sell everything from noodles to fish. Ladies stand next to propane stoves and stir up dishes in a wok. Although night has taken the edge from the heat, the humid air still permeates everything.

I order a bowl of tom yum goong with a small plate of rice and we sit at a plastic table behind the cart where we took our order. I don' know how to eat this dish, so I do what I think the Thai's would do and spice it up with Nam Phrik Pla, a condiment consisting of chili peppers and fish sauce. I'm not sure if that was the smartest idea because now I am sweating profusely and using up all the tiny toilet paper tissues that they call napkins to wipe my nose.

This soup is packed with flavor, blending the spicy with the sour. The giant prawns I break open with my spoon and fingers, but within the strong broth there are also a mixture of other herbs, all of which I can't see because it is night, but all consisting of a fibrous texture, very tough to chew, almost like eating bark. One of them, I'm sure, is a kaffir lime leaf. The others feel like twigs and orange peels. I don't know if I am supposed to eat them, or spit them out and set aside. I do a little of both, surely getting my daily dose of fiber.

Next, we buy from other booths: mango and sticky rice, chicken satay, lotus and beetroot juice. At a booth near the end of the market I order some squid and they grill, slice, and bag it for me, and give me a skewer and a little bag of hot sauce. Jenelle and I sit down to another plastic table and I eat the squid while she nibbles a plate of pad thai. The squid is semi-tender and the spicy sauce has quite an earthy taste.

Jenelle packs the rest of her pad thai into a styrofoam box and we make the slow stroll along the river back to our hotel. Street lamps illuminate the walkway. A group of boys sit along the sidewalk, their feet dangling over the water, and their poles cast into the river. A gibbous moon shines a reflection over the dark body of water and somewhere out of sight I can hear the engine of a long-tail boat.

At our hotel we climb four stories of stairs to our room where we dump off our packs, and then climb another story to the terrace. 

We have it to ourselves. A soft lunar light reveals the tops of the mangrove trees on the other side of the river near Ko Klang. We lounge in plastic chairs and enjoy a subtle breeze as we nibble the sticky rice and mangos. ♠