From Prison to ‘The Beach’

Over the footbridge from Myanmar and into Mae Sai, Thailand. Mae Sai to Chiang Rai. Chiang Rai to Chiang Mai. Its in Chiang Mai I would blow through The Damage Done, the real life account of Australian Warren Fellows and his 12 years spent in Bangkok’s notorious Maha Chai prison for drug trafficking in the late 1970s. As far as I’m concerned this book should be required reading for all 6th graders – just scare them straight. Don’t do drugs. But if you must, don’t traffic them. But if you still must, for the love of all that’s holy…pick another country to traffic in than Thailand.

From Chiang Mai I would fly to Phuket. I landed at 2pm. By 2:30, having retrieved my luggage and made my way into the army of taxi foot soldiers, I hated Phuket. But no big deal. I knew I was going to hate Phuket from the start. Phuket (aka The Bucket) – 1 part Ocean City – 1 part Myrtle Beach – garnish with sleaze & top with sex tourism. It doesn’t go down easy. At 8am the next day Devin Fitz, Laura Kapstein, Jane Jhun, and I boarded a ferry to the Phi Phi Islands. 18 hours in Phuket. 18 hours too many.

The Phi Phi Islands consist of two islands. The lightly developed Phi Phi Don and the untouched national marine park of Phi Phi Leh. Despite the vast numbers descending upon Phi Phi Don, I was in love the moment I stepped off the pier. Without a single car or motorbike in sight or earshot (zero on the island in fact), the village is a charming labyrinths of foot-traffic-only alleyways, lined on either side with tastefully done bars, restaurants, Internet cafes, coffee shops, second hand book stores, dive shops, tattoo parlors, enough tour organizers to keep you busy for weeks, street food vendors galore, and attractive accommodations to accommodate any wallet (thick or thin). If Phuket is community college for how to do it wrong, Phi Phi Don is a masters program in how to do it right. And then (or course there is a then), there’s the beach.

Gifted and bare-chested Slovenians, not shy about sharing their best assets with the rest of the beach, share sand with bleach-blond Swedes who make room for the rest of the well tanned United Nations. When a football circle develops between a Brit, a Turk, two Fins, and a really tall Brazilian, you can’t help but grin at the diversity you’re surrounded by. As the sun begins to set and the tide recedes, all that is left for 100s of feet offshore is a foot of water. And like that scores of Jesus-want-to-be’s head out and appear to walk on water. When the sun sets and the stars appear above, the bars come to life as if its Saturday night seven days a week. But isn’t it always the weekend in Paradise? Isn’t that how it works? In our case it was a Monday night but might as well have been the King’s birthday. Between the beach, the village, and the clientele…Phi Phi Don is without a doubt the grown-up version of newbie Gili Trawangan (back from the Lombok, Indonesia days). And for that reason I can only imagine how great of a place this was 15 years ago, in its infancy…

Day 75 (November 24):

I woke up in a jail cell at 8am. Ok, it had nothing to do with incarceration as I had the key to my cell. My rectangular, single room at The Rock (PPD’s legendary backpacker institution) measured mattress length + 2 feet long by mattress width plus 3 feet wide. Add a tiny barred window, one wall-mounted fan, slap some apple green paint on the wall and you have a prison cell – or my crash pad for the night. I took one look and said yes immediately for the sole reason that I could travel every continent and likely never find a smaller room.

At 11am I dropped off my key, met up with the girls, and boarded a long boat. Destination: Paradise.

Phi Phi Leh is the stuff of pure sand lovers fantasy. Towering cliff walls hundreds of feet tall hid emerald lagoons so drop dead gorgeous I pinched myself on the left wrist until it hurt…and knew it was real.

Following an afternoon that included cliff jumping and snorkeling, the long boat makes its way to the main event and our home for the night. You’ve seen the movie, you’ve read the descriptions, you’ve heard the stories from other travelers, but nothing can prepare you for what lies around the bend as our long boat glides into Maya Beach. A small channel is all that interrupts the 360 degrees of towering cliff walls that surround what is without question the prettiest beach these eyes have ever seen (sorry Bakes – Dewey’s got nothing on this patch of sand). You slowly round the bend and past through the channel and It appears as if unfolding on the Silver Screen. The Beach. But this time it really is…The Beach. Ao Maya hit the jackpot when it starred as the perfect beach in 1999’s The Beach, the film version of Alex Garland’s backpacker novel of the same name. My words won’t even scratch the surface so do yourself a favor (if you haven’t seen it), rent The Beach and see what Leo DiCaprio looks like at 104 lbs.

For $60usd you can camp on The Beach, which is all you can do as there isn’t a single roof on the entire national park island. At 5pm we pulled up onto the sand just as all the day-trip boats were doing exactly what I wanted them to do: leave.

I dump my bag and swim out to the channel to take in the view of the sun setting into the drink. The sky filled with just enough clouds to turn both the sky and the ocean’s reflection below a heavenly violet and pink. As the last boat pulls out, leaving The Beach inhabited by just 30 fortunate overnight guests, a football game breaks out on the sand. As Fitz and I take in the surreal setting I ask her what 5 people she would have join us right this second (if possible). She returns the question. With our rosters in place I swim back to shore in circles to take in every second of this experience. And it dons on me that for this one evening I truly am living The Beach. Its sounds corny but at that moment I was all about the moment. An international hodgepodge of bikinis, accents, and travelers all in pursuit of the same thing: Paradise. And for one incredible night paradise was found by all.

With all remnants of day light long gone and the half-moon sitting high in the sky, our four early-20s Thai ‘hosts’ broke out the ipod speakers, coolers of beer, dinner, and a guitar. I mean don’t all those nouns belong in paradise? With that the stage was set, and with all thirty campers chowing down on chix and rice I quietly slipped away into the bushes and down a path that lead to one of the world’s prettiest beaches. And when I got there, wouldn’t you know it – not another living soul in sight. Is this real? Seriously. Just me, my moon shadow, and arguably the prettiest beach on the globe. Completely surreal. One of the best highs of my life.

The night would include several rounds of the drinking game called Kings. The undisputed comedic highlight of which occurring when an Indian fellow pulled a 10 from the deck:

“Ten. Pick a category. Anything you want.”

“Punjabi swear words.”

His category surprisingly didn’t make it far, but the laugh was a great one shared by all. The night would end with an international skinny dip en mass before dawn, complete with an appearance from those famous phosphorescence from the movie. 7am would bring a sandy and rude awakening plus a hangover, the likes of which I hadn’t felt since America. We would leave at 10am as the first day boats started filing in. And with that my night in paradise came to an end.

Bad news: World class hangover and having to put my shirt on for the first time in 26 hours (I counted).
Good news: Can cross “Locate Paradise” off my Life To Do List.

Maya Beach
Ko Phi Phi Leh
Andaman Sea
Thailand

Check.

http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&ll=37.0625,-95.677068&spn=51.310143,79.013672&z=4