On top of the Phi Phi Don

Phi Phi islands, a group of six islands in the southern part of Thailand, are undoubtedly one of the most visited places in Thailand. Especially the biggest—Koh Phi Phi Don (usually understood as simply 'Phi Phi')—has been continuously flooded with tourists since the filming of the 2000 movie The Beach. And even though a tsunami in 2004 has killed 2,000 and destroyed much of the island, the post-disaster development has been advancing at a rapid pace, hiding any signs of the catastrophe for a traveler visiting it nowadays.



Most people go to Phi Phi from the Krabi harbor, and we are gladly joining the crowd. As we are approaching our destination and Roel sees the island's shores of green cliffs from our ferry, he grabs my camera and rushes outside to take a picture—a brilliant idea that occurred to probably every tourist on this boat, eventually resulting in the door to the deck right next to me being opened and closed every couple of seconds. And as we come closer, we are finally realizing it—we are going to paradise. Or at least that's how it had been sold to us.

Because the weather was so unstable in southern Thailand, we couldn't have planned our travels well in advance, leaving us with only limited options for accommodation once we finally did make a plan. The guesthouse that we'd booked in Phi Phi was simple, but looked nice in the pictures—and right after stepping foot onto the harbor, we took on a good 20-minute walk in the burning Thai sun, and soon found ourselves in desperate need of dropping off the 15 kilos on our (sweaty) backs.

We finally found the place, and a big relief filled me up for a second—only to find myself in confusion and disappointment the moment after. As it turns out, it's not really a guesthouse; it's a rock music bar adjacent to a tattoo studio with two miniature bungalows. The staff (aka barman) warned us immediately that sometimes they host live concerts with the music playing until, well, late. And our room was a mere two meters from that bar.

I look at Roel and see the same puzzled look on his face. Right after checking in, he takes my phone and looks for reviews of this place. And to our astonishment, other travelers warn exactly from this. A little disappointed and mad at ourselves that we didn't check this properly, we changed into our swimming suits with decreasing enthusiasm.

(Our place, however, turned out to be pretty awesome. We had our own bungalow with a nice porch, air-conditioning, and the best shower we have had in Thailand so far. The mattress, which seemed way too hard in the beginning, was in the end really comfortable to sleep on. And the concerts that we dreaded every night never happened.)


Our first days at Phi Phi were just as you'd expect from people craving some proper holiday relax. We spent most of our time on the beach - mostly sleeping in the shade, trying to hide from the strong sun. Roel brought his big 2x2 meter long beach blanket, which he was so happy about that I would hear "Isn't the blanket just the best?" and "How amazing is my blanket?" several times per day, followed by a ridiculously, adorably huge self-satisfied smile or even chuckle.

We would also be taking refreshing dips in the water. Phi Phi's main beach has really shallow waters, and thus speaking of swimming would be a little exaggerated. The big let down, however, was that the low tide came around 2 pm, making all the (already shallow) water disappear, and thus uncovering sharp rocks in the sea.

And while Phi Phi is being advertised as a place that offers a huge variety of activities for any type of travelers—beautiful beaches, good food, amazing places for diving or snorkeling, and even some tranquility at the further ends of the island—its main catch has been nothing but nightlife. And it has also become the main point of criticism for those who turned to hate the island.

The tourists who come here to seek some sun and (mediocre) sea during the day, and lots of party during the night, have become the primary occupants of Phi Phi. And in that tone has been the development of Phi Phi conducted—catering to high-demanding, often drunk and impolite (British) tourists. One of the side products of the immense crowd has been the change in the attitude of the locals. It was an exception to the rule to meet a nice, polite, and respectful Thai person who would have the patience and willingness to deal with tourists on this island. The fact that there is still a big laid-back backpacker community on Phi Phi didn't help much either.

But so it happened that also we gave in to the Phi Phi nightlife and strolled to the center one night in the quest of finding a bucket for the night. Buckets of mixed alcohol are characteristic of all the places well-known for partying—their main catch being the low price at which they're sold. Being encouraged by the contents of our buckets, we were enthusiastically bar-hopping from place to place. After a brief love affair with the first and only bar that played house music on this island (and which disappointed us not even half an hour later when the DJ started playing big hits and other random genres), we finally ended up in Slinky, a beach bar with the loudest and worst EDM music on the island. But at the time, Roel, me, and the two other guys we had met on the way were all dancing like crazy.

Drinking from the infamous Phi Phi cocktail buckets

The buzz of this place was exactly what we were looking for on a night out—with countless bars and beach clubs offering free pool tables, selling cheap drinks, and playing loud (mostly bad) music for those (me) who craved dancing. But this blessing-turned-curse was haunting us every other night when we decided not to party but turn in earlier and had to fall asleep in the midst of raging EDM craze.


Feeling like a little more adventure than just laying on the beach, we decided to hike to the Phi Phi viewpoint, which was glorified in every travel guide we read. The comfort of our bed didn't allow us to wake up early in the morning as planned, and so we only started our hike at around 10 am, when the sun was already strong. A little sweaty, a little out of breath, we got to the viewpoint in less than 15 minutes and were given an amazing view of the whole island and its neighbors, glistening in the midday sun.


Most of the little brothers of Phi Phi Don that unraveled before us were part of a boat trip that we planned to undertake the following day. The full-day tour of the area was centered on visiting Phi Phi Leh to the south of Don in the morning and other small islands on the north in the afternoon, each offering beautiful beaches, unique landscapes, and great spots for snorkeling or kayaking.

The options for exploring the Phi Phi islands are pretty much endless. While you can charter a boat and create your own plan, our budget constraints only allowed us to consider joining a tour. Out of the three options available—a long-tail boat, bigger slow boat, or a speed boat—we chose the second one. Two other guys we met on the island, Oscar and Abbie, decided to join us, and so the next day we all found ourselves on a boat big enough for a hundred people, with three floors and all the facilities you may need on a full day trip: toilet, bar, diving boards, music, and, most importantly, a lot of space.

The smaller and less developed Koh Phi Phi Leh is not only home to the infamous Maya Bay, where The Beach was filmed, but also other smaller beaches, bays, or caves. Our first stop was at a bay on the southern part of the island, where the crew handed us snorkeling masks and threw us off the boat (metaphorically).

After some vehement fights with my leaking mask, eventually resulting in Roel changing masks with me, I finally sank my head under the water without any more irritations. And even though the corals were not the brightest, fishes were beautifully colorful; and after having spent some days in the shallow waters of Phi Phi, it felt great to finally swim.

Following our jumps from the diving board (after Roel effectively forced me to do it), the boat started moving towards the second stop. The boat anchored in the middle of a bay, with only steep 100-meter tall cliffs around us and one small passageway in between. It was elevated several meters above the sea level and only accessible by climbing a rope after being dropped off by neon kayaks parked at the bottom of the cliff.

"Maya Bay, Maya Bay!" I heard the crew shouting and I looked at Roel in bewilderment. Maya Bay was the most popular place on our tour today, and many referred to it as a "tourist trap"—a site of mass tourism instead of promised paradise. The bay actually got so touristy that in order to visit it, one would need to pay 400 baht (11 euros) per person as a national park fee. The tour agents that sold us the trip ensured us that we could still see the bay from the boat and go kayaking instead of swimming—for which you don't need to pay. And so we had planned to skip it.

Maya Bay: Expectation

Maya Bay: Reality

But as it has happened several times, we had either been lied to or had a misunderstanding with the agent. Not only could we not see the bay at all; we also could not see the Monkey beach in the afternoon nor could we go kayaking now because of the strong currents. And so I looked at Roel with a hint of each disappointment, anger, and surrender, and he reached for his wallet.

We patiently waited in line for the kayaks to transport us to the cliffs. Roel, Oscar, and I were all fine, but Ebbie, the careless and unlucky person that he is, took his whole backpack (instead of using the waterproof dry bags that the crew offered us for free) and with his luck and clumsiness, the kayak capsized. His phone unsurprisingly died (only to be resurrected a couple of days later) and the stamp on his official departure card almost disappeared.

Another hilarious disaster continued at the drop-off point of the kayaks when we needed to climb several meters high cliff. A girl in front of me didn't remove her flip flops, and as they kept falling into the water with each step (and as her boyfriend kept giving them back to her), she started sobbing hysterically. We survived the way without any complications and soon made our way through a tropical forest to the other side of the island—and to the infamous Maya.

"Wow, so many people," I thought immediately after stepping foot on the beach. This place could easily be the pinnacle of mass tourism—the beach and sea were barely visible. I could understand that people come here in hopes of discovering a piece of paradise on Earth, only find unbearable crowds of annoying, pushing tourists.

But I could definitely see why this place became so famous, and since I expected the crowds anyway, I didn't feel like it was really a trap. Without boats or people, Maya could be one of the most spectacular beaches I have ever seen. The water was bright turquoise and finally not as shallow as in Don; the sand was the softest I had ever experienced, making it feel like I was walking on freshly sifted flour; and the view was spectacular—with steep, green cliffs on both sides. And suddenly the thought of being at this place in its natural state of glory, without the tourists, boats, and souvenir shops, made me grow very jealous of Leonardo di Caprio.

Roel didn't exactly share my enthusiasm—he preferred Monkey beach, our next stop, over the lost paradise. It was again one of those typical Thai little wonders - with white sand, clear blue water, and compared to the Maya Bay also infinite tranquility—and this time, with an added bonus. Bunches of monkeys came right to the beach from the nearby jungle every time a new boat with tourists (read feeders) arrived. Monkeys, however, are quite aggressive, and even this trip didn't go by without an accident when a girl got bitten in her arm. We soon took our kayak and went to explore the area without the threat of becoming victims to these little vicious creatures.

Monkey Beach

Bamboo island is the last member of the Phi Phi group that the boat is taking us to. Its main draw is its wide circular beach with white sand and nice water for swimming. The boat anchored quite far from the shore, and we were getting ready for a kayak ride again, this time doing all the work ourselves.

And yet the real highlight came only at the end of the trip. As we stopped at the Shark point, none of us was really enthusiastic. It was getting darker and colder, and thinking that I would have the same luck as I did at the Turtle point in Indonesia, I didn't expect to see any sharks. But we took the snorkeling gear anyway, thinking we would at least see some fish.

Monkey Beach

I was swimming in the water for only a couple of minutes when Roel started waving at me and shouting to come join him. Thinking that he might have actually seen some sharks, I dived in the water and swam as fast as I could. Which was, well, maybe not so fast.

But my lack of skills proved to be priceless, as I saw something big and gray moving in front of me not long after. It took me a second to realize that I was looking at a shark, a 2-meter long blacktip shark. Roel was too far away, but I swam as quickly as I could towards him to enthusiastically tell him that I'd seen my first shark ever. We tried to stay together from the point onward, and it paid off. A couple of minutes later I pointed to a shark in front of me and Roel soon spotted another one right next to him.

The sun setting down was an unmistakable sign of the end of our trip. As we were approaching Phi Phi, Abbie, in another one of his hilarious stories, started explaining that the island is called that way because all the locals pushing a trolley on the busy road shout 'pee, pee'. (It is actually called after the mangrove wood on the island.) And so we are approaching the island of pee-pees in a joyful mood, watching a mesmerizing sunset over Don—with different colors in each corner of the dimming sky.