From the Rut to the Ledge

When it was time to host our first family visitor we destined for the smaller Thai island of Koh Yao Noi. It is the northernmost island in the Andaman sea, worlds away from the more hectic and tourist beaches of Phuket and Krabi. Mitch’s brother, Walker, flew across the world to spend the week between Christmas and New Years with us. We inhabited a spot that was most “on the ledge” and out of our comfort zone and Koh Yao Noi became a wonderful escape from any world we had ever known. It was the furthest from what any of us had ever experienced before and the exquisiteness of the landscape and people romantically drew me in.

Koh Yao Noi is a fairly quiet and uninhabited island so we opted for ultra rustic accommodations; renting a treehouse bungalow with a thatched roof and hammocks, mosquito nets and intermittent running water. The balmy, warm air blew through the open windows and tiny green tree frogs hopped in and out of the bungalow as we unloaded our bags and changed permanently into our bathing suits.

On the path just outside our door, we were greeted by what became our unofficial mascot – a large monitor lizard who alternatively sped or lazily crawled through the brush around and underneath our bungalow. We named him “Monty” and he reminded me of a pet dog. While I wasn’t brave enough to pet the scaly beast that probably weighed in around 40 pounds, he was practically tame. We would often find him basking in the rays of sunlight slicing through the palm trees or sneakily rustling through the garbage outside the resort’s kitchen. I’ll admit though, after meeting Monty I began making extra noise whenever we were walking back to our hut so as not to accidently step on him or meet him face to face on our front porch!

We split our time between lazily swinging in beachside hammocks and exploring the smaller islands. It was refreshing and fun to kayak into caves, hike cliffs and bicycle around our new temporary island home. What I expected to be a busy island filled with vacationers was more of a quiet secret and we reveled in the fact that not many tourists had discovered our hideaway. We had the white sand beaches to ourselves, rising early to watch the sunrise. Seeing it set again over the dramatic rock karsts in the sea made for beautiful bookends to the long days that left us salty and sunburned.

One of my favorite excursions began early one morning when we were met at the water’s edge by a long-tail boat and our guide for the day, Mi. The five of us waded out to the old but sturdy wooden boat and climbed aboard for a day of sightseeing and island hopping. Our first stop was a shaded cove surrounded on almost all sides by towering rock karsts. The cliffs shot out of the aquamarine water and hovered above us as we untied the sea kayaks secured to our boat’s roof and laid them gently in the water. Slowly we paddled in and out of the towering formations and slid into the caves and tunnels the water had created. Though only mid-morning, the sun shone brightly and we enjoyed splashing each other with our oars to cool off.

“Would you like to visit Bat Island next?” Mi inquired as we climbed back into the boat and refreshed our throats with ice cold Coca-Colas.

“Sure! That sounds fun!” my ever-enthusiastic Luke responded.

Hmmm. Why is it called Bat Island? I thought fleetingly as the motor started and we headed out. Much to my dismay, it was a simple and very literal naming that shook me to my very core.

I’m not a fan of bats although I know and appreciate the fact that they eat mosquitos, my summer nemesis. The rest of my familial companions did not seem timid as we pulled alongside a deserted shoreline and hopped out into a mangrove forest. After walking only a few yards, I began hearing an eerie screeching sound, but it wasn’t until we were fully immersed in the forest that Mi told us to look up. Literally thousands of bats the size of watermelons were hanging upside down, blanketing the trees with such density that it was difficult to see the sky beyond them. I almost fainted with fright.

“Oh dear Lord!” I gasped. “I have got to get out of here!”

The boys thought I was exaggerating and were intrigued by all of the hovering “blood-suckers,” but I was not sticking around to see if the bats would welcome us or not. I turned and bolted back to the beach. I was shivering uncontrollably and only caught my breath once I was back on board our boat. What seemed like an innocent nature viewing had thoroughly creeped me out! Our next stop was much less dramatic. Visiting a 700-year-old enormous banyan tree and having a picnic lunch on the sand was more my speed.

Each island had its own charm and was just as deserted as the first. We rode for hours across the crystal clear water, soaking up the warm sun and marveling at the beautiful land formations that make Thailand famous. The memories are visceral. I can still taste the salt air and feel the gentle bounce of the long-tail as we cruised well into the evening. If I ever disappear, you should probably start by looking for me there.

As we returned to Bangkok for our last few days in Thailand, I pondered all we had undertaken in just two months and the potential for new experiences in the year ahead. It was such an education: seeing the diverse regions of this beautiful country, getting over the smells, embracing the lack of modernity, sampling new foods, meeting extraordinarily kind people and serving nature in its full glory. The memories and experiences in Thailand will forever be treasured by our family.